Fast Cars and Airplanes in Heaven
by TheAllPowerfulOz
Summary: Kink Meme Fill #4 on Live Journal! AU, Modern times. Altair is a PI contacted by Giovanni to rescue his kidnapped son, Ezio... YAOI WARNING! AU!
1. Chapter 1

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_I took this prompt and ran with it. Like **OMG**… I ran. I ran so far away. I just ran! I ran all night and day— (is shot)_

_I also took liberties with their ages a bit. Malik is 2 years older than Altair and Altair is only 1 year older than Kadar. (begs forgiveness) But this IS AU._

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**_BACK STORY;_**

_I wrote this with these ideas in mind…_

_Malik and Altair are Syrian, Malik's parents immigrated to the __US__ from separate cities to attend college where they met, fell in love and married. A year later Malik was born, and three years after that Kadar. When Malik is fifteen their mother passes from a brain hemorrhage after a blow to the head while shopping. (Which she'd dismissed because it really wasn't a very hard blow at all.) Their father doesn't take her loss well at all and falls into a severe depression leaving Malik to practically raise and support him and his younger brother. Despite his grades, his lack of faithful attendance gets Malik held back a year where he meets Altair._

_Altair's mother was born in the US, got pregnant at a young age and ran away out of shame. He was raised by her, living in cheap tenements and halfway houses until he was nine years old, when she died of ovarian cancer. He was adopted at age ten by a police officer and his wife and their four other children. _

_Altair ends up going to the same high school as Malik and Kadar because of this._

_If you have any questions please feel free to ask._

_Giovanni Auditore and his brother own and run a successful private bank in downtown __Chicago__. While vacationing in __Italy__ he meets and falls in love with Maria and after extending his vacation by almost six months, she and Giovanni get married and spend the first three years of their marriage between __Italy__ and __Chicago__. When their first son Federico is born they settle down in __Chicago__ and spend most of their time in one another's presence. _

_Ethan Miles comes from a low income family in __Ohio__. He moved first to __Columbus__ in search of work, where instead he ended up getting his girlfriend pregnant and abandoning her. He moves to __Chicago__ to escape the responsibility, but ten and a half months later she shows up at his door and dumps a newborn on him. They try unsuccessfully to 'make it work' but in the end she leaves him to care for his infant son. He's not a very good father, he never wanted kids, and even though he loves Desmond, his selfishness and impatience shows in the almost spiteful way he treats his son some times. Pounding home lessons Desmond is much too young to learn. _

_When Desmond is ten years old Ethan manages to get a job as a janitor in the Audutore's bank and frequently has to hide his son in the janitor's break room on weekends when he works. Desmond though, is a terribly curious child, and often leaves the break room to wander around. _

_One day he gets stuck in an elevator, where he meets Giovanni's second son Ezio, who had also been running around and the two of them end up becoming very good friends._

_Giovanni works things around and manages to get Desmond accepted to the private school Ezio attends, and because his family's happiness and wellbeing means so much to him, he even pays for it too._

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**Chapter 1; The Boy**

He'd seen the same thing happen before. Dozens of times actually, and most usually it ended in a morgue over a cold, dead body.

Altair had not wanted to be a private investigator. At age ten he'd been adopted into a family of policemen and former Marines. Being a cop or a soldier was his dream from that moment on. Growing up in Chicago made very little else an interest to him, aside from music. Dear God did he like music, but that was beside the point.

At eighteen he'd enlisted, right out of high school, and at nineteen he'd been discharged from duty because of a nasty little mishap in the Middle East on his first tour involving two fellow translators, a thug, a car bomb and a lot of ego. After that police work was out of the question. Altair suffered from, PTSD. It made him too paranoid, introverted and trigger happy, he couldn't bear to let himself close to a gun again.

That had been almost three years ago, and after his return Altair's adoptive father had hit him with a heavy dose of humility, promptly throwing him out of the family home, leaving him to fend for himself on the streets for a year and a half.

Malik, bless him, after a bitter feud that lasted almost two years, had recently done something Altair hadn't believed him capable of.

He'd forgiven him, and offered him a small office/apartment in the building he owned and ran his print shop from, and somehow, through twisting and who knew what favors he'd had to call in, he'd managed to help Altair get his PI's license.

And over the last year Altair had seen things through his work with the police that reminded him too keenly of the short term he and the other man had shared overseas.

While Malik prayed, the rhythmic chanting almost like a song across the hall, Altair stared out the window and tried to will the memories of chattering gunfire and smoke from his mind, tried to forget the stench of scorched flesh and the screams of anguish from Malik's dying little brother as he'd bled out, despite the medic's best efforts.

And his newest case?

Well, that didn't help matters at all.

A kidnapping, one of many in the last few months, this time two twelve-year-old boys had been snatched while they walked to school.

The boys' respective parents had done the unthinkable when they'd received phone calls from the kidnappers_. "We want a million in small bills delivered to this occasion by __five thirty__ tomorrow, or you'll never see these kids alive again."_

What had the parents done?

They'd emptied their bank accounts and attempted to deal with this without fuss, without bringing in the police and angering the bastards.

Five thirty came around, Giovanni Auditore and Ethan Miles waited, and sure enough, a man appeared, his face hooded, eyes dark, and took the two cases of cash, tossing to the two worried fathers a single key to a shabby hotel near Chicago Midway Airport—

That lead to a completely empty room wherein they found two Polaroid photos of their sons, bound and gagged with knives to their throats.

_"A million each…"_

Airport security cameras showed no sign of the kids. And the hotel's security video was conveniently missing.

The families informed the police, the police did their jobs… And now, two days later, without further word from the kidnappers, and no leads whatsoever, the 'Rescue' had been switched to 'Recovery' and the police were dredging the river, diving in the lake off the docks.

And Giovanni Auditore had given Altair a phone call.

Well, he would have talked to Altair, if Altair hadn't been out shopping at the moment. As it was Malik answered the phone, took a note and left it pinned to Altair's door with a kitchen knife.

The next day he met with the two families and stared at photos of the boys; Ezio, a cocky looking little kid in a soccer uniform, grinning impishly at the camera, his hair sticking up in a breeze that must have been blowing when the photo was taken. And Desmond, a skinny little kid with a grin too wide for his face and what looked like, from the way his hands were blurred in the photo, a mild case of ADHD.

Maria, Giovanni's wife, spoke only Italian, and spent most of the meeting sobbing into her husband's shoulder. Giovanni's face was full of regret, his eyes puffy and red as he told Altair everything he knew, begging him to please find his son.

Ethan Miles, on the other hand, was a single father, his son's mother having left him when the boy was still in diapers. He worked in the Auditore's private bank as a janitor, and although he wasn't close with Ezio's family, their sons had been friends. Ezio helping Desmond with his math, Desmond helping with Ezio's spelling. Playing video games, watching movies, running around in the park; things young boys did.

Ethan Miles was a calm man, Altair for some reason pictured him as an alcoholic who didn't really spend much time with his son. The man's eyes almost dead looking, he also happened to be a realist.

When Giovanni had to take his wife out of the room to calm her, Ethan said in a quiet voice, face turned to the floor; "I know this isn't going to end well. It never does… J-just promise me." He looked up then and there was a fierce almost painful light in his eyes. "Promise me you'll make those bastards pay."

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Altair had contacts in the city. Friends he'd made in the time he'd lived on the streets after his father had kicked him out, as well as family friends that despite what had happened, still held a place for him in their hearts.

Within four hours of meeting with the Auditore parents and Ethan Miles he had a lead.

A homeless man who Altair knew as Marvin, had talked to a woman who'd been collecting cans on the very street the two boys were snatched from, and after a beer and a Subway sandwich, he instructed the younger man where to find her.

When Altair approached the woman she was sitting beside some garbage cans with a plush cat in her lap, cradling it and singing to it as if it were a baby.

"That's a nice cat… What's its name?"

The woman looked up at him with a deadpan expression on her dirty face. "It's a toy you nimrod…" And she went back to singing to it.

"Oh… Sorry." He scratched under the collar of his shirt and cleared his throat; "Listen, Marvin told me you were gathering up some cans two streets over, near the river, last week."

"Maybe… My memory isn't so good anymore, and the letters on street signs always did laugh at me, so I try not to look at them." She tucked the cat into a rather large purse on her arm and climbed to her feet. "You a cop or something?" She raised a dark eyebrow at him.

"No, Ma'am… I'm a Private Investigator." He walked cautiously forward, movements slow as he pulled the two photos of the boys from his pocket. "You haven't seen either of these boys, have you?"

She took one look at the photos and smiled. Cooing like a new mother. "Oh, yes, I remember THAT ONE!" She pointed to Ezio's photo then started digging around in her purse.

Altair stepped back warily.

She pulled out a plastic baggy with two half eaten cookies inside. "He passes by here on his way to school, always gives me his lunch!" She patted the cookies and hid them quickly back in her purse. "He's such a nice boy… Is he sick? I haven't seen him, or his little friend in a long time." She rubbed her stomach.

Altair felt his chest ache; "Where did you see him?"

She carefully shuffled to the mouth of the alley, peering out as if something might see her, squinted around left and right, then with a happy little 'AH!' She pointed to the left toward the corner.

"He and the other boy stopped there after giving me the sandwich and the cookies…" She paused, her face scrunching up as if deep in thought and turned to Altair with wide eyes. "A man was there already. Dressed a lot like you, only in black… Then a van pulled to the corner and picked them and the man up… That man wasn't supposed to do that was he…" She mumbled to herself for a few seconds, giving a quick twitch of her head on her neck. "Oh, dear… I'm in trouble now, aren't I?" She looked up at Altair with fearful eyes a hand to each cheek.

"No, no… You're actually being a big help… Would you mind telling the police what you told me?"

She shifted away from him for a few seconds. "Not the bad police… If they're blue like you, then I will… But the red ones give me the willies."

He paused, blinking at her, and nodded, pulling out his cell phone and dialing quickly.

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Barely three hours later the woman, she swore she didn't remember her name but they could call her whatever they wanted because they were blue and not red, had told the police exactly what she'd seen… And then she was promptly taken to the hospital and admitted because the ID in her purse matched with a missing persons report filed almost a year ago, and it turns out she had a mild case of schizophrenia.

And despite the fact Altair knew in his heart she was telling the truth, despite the fact most of the cops knew she was telling the truth, they couldn't qualify her as a reliable source because of her illness without hard proof.

So, Altair talked with the officers who'd heard her statement, and they went in search of the other end of her lead, 'to disprove it' they'd assured, though at the same time they hoped.

Sure enough, a street view camera mounted on the front of a jewelry store half a block away caught the hazy outline in the upper right corner of its feed, of exactly what the woman had said she'd seen.

An indistinct form in black standing on the street corner as the two boys appeared and waited for the light on the opposite side of the street to indicate it was safe to walk.

A van pulled up, the back door opened and two men hopped out, one grabbing Ezio, the other Desmond. Within three seconds the boys were gone.

More security cameras, more seemingly useless footage, and then; four blocks to the east, that same van making an illegal right hand turn. And then they'd hit pay dirt.

Seven consecutive cameras with crystal clear footage of the driver, the passenger, and even Ezio's little hand as he struggled in the back of the van.

It was obvious it was Ezio, because there were only so many kids in Chicago who wore watches that were that fucking expensive.

The van headed east to the very hotel the threatening photos of the two boys had been found.

But, now they had faces…

And with faces, came names.

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It took less than twenty-four hours for a hit.

Twenty-four hours and Altair was in a police cruiser with a young man, barely two years his senior heading to pick up one of the kidnappers. It was quick work. Simply walking up behind him in a Starbucks and slapping him in cuffs.

Twenty minutes later he was in a private room with two rather unsavory cops Altair found himself shying away from.

Of course, he shied away from most people truthfully, everyone except Malik, or Malik's girlfriend Hadiya, and that was only because the woman made excellent traditional foods, especially _wharich ayeneb_, just the smell was somehow able to coax him from his room long enough to sit hunched over his food, eating quickly and quietly to Malik's right. She was a smart woman, but she seemed to want the two of them to get along more than anything, and Altair didn't want to crush that dream by telling her that he couldn't, that looking at Malik sometimes made him want to drop to his knees and die.

Altair felt like that now, watching the two burly cops in the interrogation room shouting and showing photos to the man sitting there, his head dropped onto the tabletop, saying over and over that he hadn't seen the boys since he'd driven the van, and if they wanted to find them they had to talk to Rodrigo.

Rodrigo was the one to orchestrate it all, Rodrigo that rat, had lied to them all.

"It was supposed to be quick! Grab the kids, get the money, leave them in the hotel!" The man finally broke down. "W-we weren't even supposed to talk to the little brats! Just keep the paper bags over their heads and wait until we had the confirmation that the cash was in hand!" He stomped and banged his head violently on the table top; "FUCK! He lied to us all!"

Barely two minutes later the man was sobbing as he wrote a rather detailed confession and accepted a plea bargain in front of his state appointed attorney. He'd go away for five years, as payment for his confession, and would be on five more years parole instead of five more in prison as a thank you for naming his accomplices.

By midnight, four of the six men were behind bars, and Altair was walking quickly down the street to the bus stop to catch the eleven fifty-five home, then the twelve-forty-five back because he was NOT eating those shit doughnuts at the precinct, nor was he drinking that sludge they called coffee.

He'd been spoiled on Hadiya's cooking over the last year, even if it was cold leftovers in the fridge, or a kabob she'd put in the microwave for him it would be better than doughnuts and 'coffee'.

Hell, he'd even be happy with some of her bread and a damn juice box.

And that's when hands shot out of the alley to his left, am arm going around his neck, the other stabbing him quickly in the shoulder with a hypodermic.

He cursed and flailed, jabbing his attacker twice in the ribs with his elbow, and even as his hands started going numb and his vision blurring, he grabbed fingers, bending them backward, satisfied darkly inside when the bones snapped like dry twigs. Another twist, forcing the man's arm behind his back, POP, a quick little jab to the elbow and the bone shattered.

He managed to stumble three steps toward the street before he went down. First to his knees, then to his face.

His cheek cracked against the concrete, and his vision became quickly distorted, colors dancing.

_Blue and red and yellow and white…_

Tires screeched, and a man jumped out, running forward. Voices distorted as if through water.

"He broke… arm! MY ARM!"

Someone kicked him solidly in the ribs, and he rolled a few feet, coming to stop on his back staring up into a streetlight, blinking dazedly as his pupils dilated.

"Are you sure…guy?"

"YES… Stupid… damn PI Auditore hired… I'm gonna kill… fucking kid!"

A shadow loomed over him, thin, and wreathed in eerily vivid crimson, and then a boot crashed down on his face and everything went black.

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	2. Chapter 2

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**Chapter 2; Home Sweet Home**

Altair woke sometime later, he didn't know how long, to his own voice slurring out lyrics from a record he'd not listened to in months.

_"Come ooooooooon… Baby, dooooon't you wanna goooooooooo… Oh, Come on, Baby don't you wanna gooooooooo… Back to that same ooooooold plaaaaaaaace… Sweet Hoooooooooome Chica—"_

And a fist cracked against his jaw, jerking his chin hard to the right, brain thumping around in his skull like a ball in a bucket.

At first he thought he'd fallen out of bed, and he gave his head a shake, groaning when his brain rattled around again, and blinked about the dark interior of the room.

His face was swollen, blood caked in a cut over the twisted bridge of his nose, and something was sharp and hard in his mouth. He pushed it around with his tongue for a few seconds, then spat it out, letting more blood flow out with it, chuckling stupidly to himself when he realized it was half of one of his jaw teeth.

"What are you laughin' at you bastard?"

He let his head flop back on his neck, Adam's apple bobbing in the stretched sheathe of his throat. "Sweet Hooooooome Chicaaaaaagooooooooo!" He choked on the blood and had to rock his head forward again to vomit it out.

"He's high as a kite, Robert, leave him alone…"

From the corner somewhere to his right Altair heard snuffling, like the sound small puppies made when they were cold and hungry.

Altair didn't particularly like dogs, but puppies were different. He'd never admit it because then Malik might kick him out or worse yet laugh at him and call him 'Princess' like he used to before he fucked everything up, but without the amusement— But Altair liked little fuzzy things. Liked to pick them up when nobody was looking and rub their wet little noses against his own and coo in a terribly high pitched voice.

He turned his head, his neck feeling loose and too long, and tried to focus on the corner of the room.

There were two little boys huddled there, tied up with their hands behind their backs, their legs chained to a large ring in the floor, leaning against one another like scared cats.

They were terribly bruised and dirty, and had identical scabbed over cuts through the right side of their mouth, but there was no mistaking them. Altair had spent the better part of a week staring at their pictures.

One of the men, the older one, Rodrigo, caught him staring at the marks. "Do you like them?"

Altair shook his head, groaned, and dropped his chin forward on his chest when he was sure he'd just liquefied part of his brain.

"It's my trademark… That way everyone knows from whom their wares have come… Maybe I should show you my other trademarks… Would you like that?"

Hands were suddenly gripping his head, tilting it back, and squeezing his jaw.

The old man, somehow plump and Santa Clause looking with his white hair and sparkling eyes, came forward calmly, and lifted a knife from nowhere, holding it delicately between his fingers.

_Huh, he's had medical training… _

"Now, hold still and this won't hurt as much."

There was still too much drug in his system to allow him to twist and fight as the blade was lowered to his own face. In fact, he didn't really feel it at first. Just let his eyes roll over to the boys in the corner.

Altair flipped his numb fingers where they were tied behind his back trying to work his wrists free, grunting in pain as the blade made another shallow cut over his lips, then another, going deeper and deeper with each pass.

The bastard kept cutting, and the pain was growing, was driving him insane. He could taste blood in his mouth, either from the broken tooth, his broken nose or the cutting he didn't know. But he hated the taste of blood. Hated it with every fiber of his being.

"There… That wasn't so bad, was it?"

He rocked backward, the bloody knife still held scalpel like in his fingers. "Now, the three of you match!"

Altair wanted to spit at him, wanted to see blood and phlegm splattered across the morbid Santa Clause's face, but even as he thought about it he could feel the two different edges of the cuts moving against one another, and for a moment he pictured so clearly in his head what it looked like, a neat, carved line that splits a little more every time he moves, or speaks, skin giving way to that thin slick layer of yellow gel like fat, then muscle, wine red, firm and twitching with life. Veins and arteries, bone and tendon—

And suddenly images flash before his eyes. Images of a dusty, golden street in the midday sun and the blackened crater left by the car bomb. Standing there staring in horror his flack jacket seeming to weigh him down like a goddamned sack of cement, fatigues plastered to his body by sweat.

He's sure he pissed himself standing there staring at the bloody mess where Malik's left arm was supposed to be, and the hole he can see clean through in Kadar's chest, can see internal organs quivering as the boy screamed wetly.

When he comes to himself again he's bent forward over his legs, staring at blood and vomit splattered over his own shoes and the legs of his jeans. It's mostly water and bile, at least it wasn't Hadiya's cooking. He'd shoot himself then because he'd never be able to eat it again without tasting gall, and that right there would be tragic beyond comprehension.

The fist in his hair wrenches his head back up and the room spins in color again. Red, blue yellow and white and he can feel the ties around his wrists loosening, can feel hard fingers wrenching his hands up and holding them down by his wrists on the table.

He sees the hammer, sees it lifted, and even sees it starting to fall, and in a sudden burst of strength is able to jerk his hand backward just in time to save it from being crushed, though he's not very lucky, because the hammer catches something and there's a spray of blood and shards of bone and suddenly he's only got nine fingers, and then he's fighting. Thrashing and the bastard at his back is trying to force him down again, but is slipping in the puddle of sick on the concrete floor.

The pain is like a white, blinding light in his hand that pulses with every beat of his heart. A searing throb that makes him want to howl and clutch the mutilated appendage to his chest and curse and shout and stomp because that wasn't fair, he liked that finger thank you very much!

They go down in a tangle of limbs and suddenly there is a loud noise. A rattling of metal that is just a little too close to the chatter of a machine gun for Altair's liking, and he brings his left wrist to his mouth, ignoring the crushed, bloody mess that resembles raw hamburger between his middle and last finger, and bites the bastard who's got hold of him so hard he feels like a goddamned pitbull. Latching on and squeezing his jaws, until the skin pops and tears between his teeth and he's tempted to rip off a mouthful just to spit in the bald bastard's face.

And he's stomping on the arch of the man's expensive Italian Leather shoes, grinning with his teeth all red and blood on his chin, eyes wild like caution lights in the fog when he hears a popping noise and drops forward, throwing the man over his shoulder and punching him quickly on the chin, knocking him out cold.

Light floods the little room and Altair turns on his haunches with a snarl, like a mad dog, angry and hurt and ready to fight, hands up, eyes wild and he sees the garage style door rattling up on its coasters, and suddenly he knows exactly where he is. Chants it in his head like one of Malik's prayers.

_West Archer Avenue__! Midway Storage! __West Archer Avenue__! Midway Storage! __West Archer Avenue__! Midway Storage!_

Literally just across the fucking runway from the hotel!

_"FUCK!"_

And there, standing silhouetted in the light, is the slimy fucker who's arm he'd broken, now trussed up in an elaborate cast, his black hair slicked away from his face like he's straight from a Rat Pack film. Like he thinks he's Dean Martin or some shit.

Altair charges at him, and has no more taken three steps than that Santa Clause bastard sinks his little knife into the top of his shoulder.

Moving in such a ferocious manner, it seemed, had loosened the hold of whatever sedative or drug they'd shot him full of, and Altair felt the pain of the impact like a bolt of lightning, shooting between his collar bone and the joint of his shoulder up and down his arm all the way into his chest.

It felt, for a moment, as if the knife had pierced his heart, and his blood ran cold, stopping him dead in his tracks, He bent, eyes wide, right hand coming up to clutch at the handle of the blade, feeling slick, hot blood running out, so much, too much— Breath wheezing out of his chest.

A kick to the back of the knee dropped him, and the slimy little jerk with the patchy pubescent beard and the broken arm snarled at him as he fell onto his face, struggling to breathe.

"The police are coming, Father… We have to go."

The old man sighed impatiently, but nodded and grabbed up Ezio by the scruff of his little neck, dragging him. "Get the other one…"

"What about Robert?"

"Leave him… The bastard didn't listen when I told him to hold that idiot down."

Altair tried to gain his feet again, but before he could so much as raise his head, a hard soled shoe came down with surprising force on his forearm, and he heard more than felt the bones snap and crunch.

Luckily the stab wound held back most of the pain, but when he heard that slimy little shit laughing at him Altair wished he _had_ felt it, because that would have meant he'd be able to move, and possibly grab the guy's nuts, just to squeeze and feel that delicious POP! As they ruptured, like a small water balloon, or a large zit.

He wanted to hurt this guy… Bad.

The heel on his arm ground harder and he heard the broken ends of bone grating together as the man walked away.

He barely registered the scuffle as the guy unchained and pulled Desmond to his feet, dragging him along… Barely heard the sirens in the distance… Barely held onto his consciousness as he watched blood beginning to pool under him. Felt it mixing in the gravel on the pavement, stinging the bruises on his face, appearing from under his chin and chest like spilled ink.

He didn't want to close his eyes, he had to watch, had to see where those assholes were taking the kids… Had to hold on long enough to tell someone, then he could die.

Everything is hazy in those last few moments and he knows he's bleeding out, but he smiles somewhere inside when he sees the Miles kid twisting, kicking the slimy Rat Pack shit in the shin, pushing him down onto his broken arm, and running.

Altair wants to cheer the kid on, tell him to run, it isn't far to a restaurant or a Laundromat or something, and he'll be safe there.

Rodrigo's son is cursing, climbing to his feet and dashing off holding his arm, and Desmond isn't running for safety, he's running right toward Altair, and that's when his eyes fall shut. Too tired to keep them open. Too tired to hear the frantic little voice begging him to wake up.

_Malik will probably throw out my records… He'll probably keep my knives though he always did have a thing for knives_.

And for a while there was only blackness.

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	3. Chapter 3

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_Italics = Arabic_

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**Chapter 3; Man of the World**

There is a certain point, when regaining consciousness, where everything is warped. Where one's senses scream LIFE! And one's body cries out in death throes.

Altair had experienced this sensation once before, when he was sixteen, after waking up from having his tonsils removed.

There had been a frantic few seconds when his mind worked faster than his body, and with that oxygen mask over his face, blowing cold air on him, hissing like a hose, he'd been convinced he was drowning.

Now though, it was a different sensation.

There was something IN his throat. Something long and snake like, pressing his tongue out of the way, and he couldn't breathe.

Worse than that, he was in a considerable amount of pain. His arm ached, his chest HURT, and his face was so swollen he couldn't open his eyes.

It was this half awareness, this hell between wakefulness and sleep, that Altair found himself trapped, prisoner to. He screamed in his head, shouted profanities in the four languages he knew, thrashed, clawed and fought while his body remained motionless save the twitching of his eyelids and a faint flexing of the fingers in his right hand.

And then there was a hand on his head. Gentle, almost hesitant, and a voice, smooth and deep, lowered into an almost whisper near his ear. "You're waking up… I know you are, your hand twitches like that when you're waking up, like you're looking for your gun."

In the three years since the Incident, Altair had never been more relieved to hear Malik's voice.

"Hadiya stayed up to make something to eat for you… When you didn't show up she called your brother." There was a long pause. "You'd better wake up soon… Hadiya bakes when she's nervous, and I don't think I can eat all those cakes and cookies by— by myself…" He shifted, clearing his throat over his shoulder and for a long while it was quiet, then softly, almost pleadingly; "Please wake up…"

Altair's senses relaxed stretching out, taking in his surroundings, focusing on the nerves and muscles connected to his right hand, trying to keep his fingers twitching, trying to work that movement up his arm so he could shake himself awake.

There was a quiet noise off to one side or another, he wasn't able to tell which one, or where, but imagined the doorway;

"Malik…"

The man sighed deeply and shifted in his seat, lowering his voice, his tone firmer, more confident than it had been seconds before. _"I didn't expect you to come back until morning."_

She made a scoffing noise and Altair heard her shoes clack against the floor tile; _"You never do well in hospitals… You were pacing around like a madman while he was in surgery chewing your nails and cursing—And don't pretend you weren't, I have ears."_

_"Hadi."_

_"I'm not complaining, he's your friend, his own family won't stay with him, it's only right. He needs someone to support him, just as you do… So I came back… And the nurses seemed to like my cake so—"_

And suddenly it was bright, and blurry. A thin slit, like a panorama photograph, fuzzy and indistinct, but Altair knew the shapes, knew the faces behind the smears.

Malik was sitting to his right, facing the doorway, leaned back in his seat rubbing at his eyes wearily, and Hadiya was discreetly peeking into the mirror over the sink tucking her hair back under her hijab.

Personally, Altair didn't see why she bothered with it, she sometimes complained that it made her hair frizzy, but unless Malik was taking her out to a fancy restaurant or she was just walking around the apartment without plans to go out, she wore it. She'd once made a quiet comment to him that if she woke up and couldn't get her hair to do what she wanted, it was convenient. 'And it's tradition, my grandmother wore one, and my great grandmother, and my great-great grandmother. I am glad to have a choice, and I am also glad to choose to wear it…'

Malik, as if sensing his thoughts, commented on it, and she poked her tongue out at him in reply, then her eyes locked on Altair and her tongue disappeared between her lips again. She tiptoed to the left side of the bed, leaning over with her eyes wide, mouth curling up into a smile, teeth appearing to be just a white slash in her face. "Oh! Look here! He's got his eyes open!"

Malik's chair screeched against the floor and he was on his feet leaning over the other side of the bed, eyes impossibly wide, bending so close he blurred out of focus.

"Altair?"

He wanted to say something, wanted to speak, tell Malik to lean back or they'd bump foreheads, but all he could do was blink lazily amid the swelling and try to breathe.

A machine beeped somewhere above his head and Malik looked up quickly, leaning away before leaning forward again, like some kind of fleshy yo-yo, his brows drawn down in an irritated fashion. "You're intubated, stop fighting it!"

Hadiya shushed him; "Don't be so harsh… Poor man has just woken up from surgery!" She leaned closer and Altair felt oddly claustrophobic. "You just relax, let the respirator do the work for now." She smiled sweetly. "You've had us worried." She looked up at Malik. "I'll go and get the nurse." She left and Altair continued to blink around, mapping the room in his head.

Malik kept staring at him… More like scowling in all actuality, as if he found the fact he'd been so worried bothersome and was being inordinately obtuse to make up for his concern. "If you weren't hurt and immobile I'd beat your head in! You'd better pray what your brother said that boy told them was an exaggeration, or so help me—" If it had been possible, Altair would have laid money on Malik shooting steam from his ears. Thankfully Hadiya returned with two nurses and a doctor at that moment and Malik slunk away into the corner to steam like a little overheated teapot.

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He remained in the intensive care unit for another twenty-four hours, partially sedated, while they monitored his blood pressure and the incisions made into his shoulder and chest to repair damage. Twenty-four hours during which he found himself extubated and allowed to incline the bed a bit so he could speak with the two detectives that came to take his statement. Although 'speaking' was more of a relative term since he was pretty sure afterward that he'd been imagining the fluffy, color changing fur sprouted over the detectives' faces. And he knew he would never live it down because, as sure as the fur was imagined, he was also sure that comments had been made about it few times as well.

The words; 'Do you dye that stuff, or is naturally that green?' came to mind.

And then there was the Miles boy…

Altair wished desperately that he could forget that particular incident.

It was the morning after he'd been moved from the ICU. Malik was sprawled on his back in a reclining chair in the corner, a jacket draped across his chest like a blanket— And as Altair had surveyed the room for changes during the night, he'd become aware of a little face peeking over the foot of the bed.

At first he thought he was dreaming, but the white butterfly closures over the cuts on small lips were too stark to be anything but real, as was the little hospital ID bracelet around a bony wrist.

Desmond was a cute kid, Altair had decided, when he wasn't chained and tied and dirty.

"What're you doing in here?" He grumbled under his breath.

If it were possible, Desmond's eyes got even wider, like saucer sized black pools.

"You made my dad cry."

Altair blinked.

"I only ever seen him cry once, and that was when his girlfriend kicked him in the privates…"

If it hadn't hurt so much to scowl, Altair would have done it. _Anyone would cry from a shot to the nards, kid, even ol' cranky britches over there…_

"You know what else he did?" Desmond's fingers curled against the plastic rail, obviously coming onto tiptoe to see over it if the way he tottered was evidence. "He hugged me, an' he said he'd never yell at me, or forget to tell me he loved me again."

It was the tone of the kid's voice that made the connection; the quiet, too calm, almost robotic tone, the too wide pupils, the hospital bracelet and loose, fluffy pajamas, as well as the telltale bruising of a recently removed IV on the back of his right hand.

Desmond was in shock.

An overhead loud speaker squawked in the hallway and Malik jerked awake.

"Third floor, code; walker, third floor, code; walker."

Malik sat up scrubbing his face, and Desmond turned to look at him. "Hi." It came out as a tired sigh.

"Aren't you a little short to be a nur—" And then Malik really got a look at him. "Oh."

Desmond turned back to Altair, mouthing his knuckles where they'd turned white over the edge of the railing. "Are you OK, Mister?"

Altair slowly nodded.

"My dad said you're never a'posed to touch someone's blood or you'll get AIDS… You got AIDS?"

"No."

"Okay, good…" He bounced up and down on the balls of his little feet, eyes searching the room, then shuffled up to Altair's elbow and pointed; "Can I sign your cast? Ezio's brother Freddy had a cast on his leg once… He let me sign it. We played tic-tack-toe on it… Ezio always wins though."

Malik quietly got up and walked quickly from the room to tell a nurse where the missing third floor patient was.

Altair watched silently, his heart in his throat, while Desmond used a sharpie that had been in the bedside drawer and scratched his name on the plaster.

Altair stared at him for a few moments after that, watching as his little shoulders slumped, and his fist came up to rub his eyes.

He snuffled pathetically and Altair couldn't do anything but stare at him and watch as tears rolled silently down his face.

A few seconds later two nurses came in, followed quickly by Desmond's father, who dropped to his knees and scooped the boy into a tight hug.

"Don't go wondering off like that, buddy."

"I'm sorry…" His voice was muffled by his father's shoulder. "I just w-wanted to say thank you."

Thirty minutes after that while Malik was down the street having lunch with Hadiya and her parents, Ethan Miles slipped into his room. His mouth opened and closed a few times, fish like, and he rested his hip on the edge of the sink, arms crossed tightly around his own waist.

Altair stared at him, teeth ground together because it was that forty-five minute lull wherein he had to wait before he could have anything for the pain, and Ethan wasn't helping his temper along at all.

In the end the older man said nothing at all, and left as suddenly as he came.

What didn't sit well, was the unease written plainly on Ethan's face.

But, things happened quickly after that, and Altair shoved the thought from his mind. He had always had weirdly rapid healing abilities, and despite saying this frequently, had surprised the doctors and nurses by recovering enough to be sent home in three days.

He spent the twelve hours after returning to his apartment on the phone, trying to track down Rodrigo, his son, and their private jet… To no avail. It was considered a strictly FBI, international situation, and Altair was just a smalltime PI working out of his halfway-friend's spare room.

Which was the equivalent of Jack Shit to the FBI.

Altair then spent the next twenty-nine hours either sleeping or so high on pain medication Malik took up residence on his couch to make sure he didn't choke on his tongue, or try to leap out a window thinking he could fly. It seemed that he hadn't been healed enough to go on a tirade as he had, and all the shouting and chucking knives at his dart board, had strained the muscles in his chest, which in turn, pulled the muscles in his shoulder, and that sent Altair up shit creek without a paddle so to speak.

Hadiya took the pills after that and hid them, saying someone had to be responsible and make sure he didn't overdose on them. Too bad for her Malik had thought Altair being stoned was the most hilarious thing he'd ever seen, and returned them with haste.

It was during the third night after his release from the hospital that the silence finally broke.

Malik was sitting on his couch with a notebook open on his lap, scribbling away with a distant yet intent look on his face, when Altair had taken a deep shuddering breath and spoke.

"Malik."

The man grunted and lifted his eyes from his book.

"What happened?" He tilted his head and blinked owlishly at him.

"What do you mean?"

Altair licked his lips, feeling tingly all over as if coming out of shock. "Where am I?"

Malik glanced at the clock and a wary look came over his face. Brows scrunching downward, jaw clenching in worry. He pushed his notebook off his lap and padded to the bed in socked feet, sitting slowly in the chair Altair used as a nightstand. He pressed the back of his hand to the younger man's forehead and let concern color his voice. "You're at home, in your bed."

"What happened to me?" His voice was quiet, smaller than he'd meant it to be, and he wasn't sure why he was asking, he knew what had happened, remembered it in fuzzy, dream like detail.

Malik blinked and spoke with a calm, firm kind of factuality, recognizing what was happening; "You were attacked. One of them injected you with a sedative, and from what I can gather from… _Covertly_ looking through your chart back at the hospital, you were beaten up, had your left ring finger smashed off by blunt force trauma, and got your subclavian artery nicked when you were stabbed… You would have bled to death if that boy hadn't stuck his fingers in you."

"Boy?"

"Yes. One of the boys you've been looking for, for the better part of a week— Desmond… He pulled a Dutch Dyke and saved your life…"

"Dutch Dyke?" He grinned in a lopsided, almost stoned way; "You mean like that PERSON who runs the bakery down the street, or the story ab—"

Malik sighed and leaned back in the chair a little, relaxing slightly and rubbed his forehead; "The story about the little boy who put his finger in the leaking dyke! You stupid…" He sighed again, weightily, and looked up with an amused, and yet embarrassed look on his face.

A few seconds of silence passed with only the quiet groan of the street outside, and the slow pattering of infrequent raindrops on the windows to break it.

"Malik?"

"What now?"

"They caught 'em… Right?"

Malik didn't answer.

"The guys caught 'em before they could get away with the Auditore kid, right?"

Malik shifted uncomfortably and looked away into the corner in a mournful way;

"No… The FBI is looking for them as we speak. Don't you remember throwing a fit when you were trying to call them?"

Altair blinked up at the ceiling, gritting his teeth against the growing pain in his chest that had absolutely nothing to do with his wounds. He nodded. He knew… He'd just hoped, prayed that it had been a dream. None of it had seemed real until now.

He'd failed.

There was a little boy out there, kidnapped, suffering god only knew what horrors, because of him. Because he hadn't been fast enough, because he—

"Giovanni Auditore and his wife offered to pay your medical bills."

"Why?" He was startled by how thick his voice sounded.

Malik shifted forward in his seat and laid his hand on the sheet next to Altair's. "Because you did something not even the FBI had been able to do? Because you took a case they had given up on? A case that the police were convinced they would never find a lead or even a corpse for, and brought a boy home to his family?"

"And _their_ kid is still out there—"

"That boy, Desmond, was able to give a full description of the men who'd taken them. There are warrants out, APB's and all that other police jargon. They won't just vanish into the ether. They will be caught."

"Before of after they kill him…"

Malik released his breath in a quiet whoosh and rocked back in his seat. "You've always been pessimistic. You saved a boy's life, Altair."

"While another got taken god knows where!"

Malik glared at him; "We can argue back and forth like this all night if you want, or you can get some rest, heal, and help find him."

Altair wanted to argue with him, just for the sake of arguing, but couldn't keep it up. He was exhausted, and Malik was right. He could argue and gripe about it, or he could get better and do something about it.

Malik grumbled to himself as he stood and shuffled back to the couch, picked up his notebook and took up writing where he'd left off.

Altair lie there for a few minutes listening to the scratch of Malik's pen, and the quiet utterance he was sure Malik wanted to shout at him, but said it quietly for two reasons Altair didn't really want to think about.

"Egotistical bastard… You're not a goddamned superhero."

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	4. Chapter 4

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**Chapter 4; Charity Starts at Home**

_ Nine Years Later_

"Altair…" There was only one person brave or stupid enough to peck on his door like that. And unless there was a talking woodpecker out there, it could only be him. "Altair, you have to get up, someone's here to see you."

He groaned and rolled over in bed. Throwing a pillow at the door, satisfied with the dull 'whump' of down and cotton against the wood, that would scare off any talking woodpeckers, and buried his head under the blankets.. "Goooowaaaay! 'mon vacation."

Malik sighed, an irritated, impatient sound. "Do I really have to get Saree in there to drag you out of bed? You know how much she enjoys it."

Altair sighed and rolled over, rubbing his face with both hands before calling out in a hiss; "Whoozit?"

"Who do you think it is you stupid ass…" A lengthy pause and then a sigh; "It's your assistant."

Altair groaned and forced himself up, dangling his arms over his knees for a few minutes before he kicked the blankets back like a petulant sleepy child, and climbed out of bed.

Nine years… most of which his 'Assistant' had been religiously coming to his aid every evening on weekdays, and every morning on weekends. Even while he'd been in the hospital recovering, there he'd been. Standing on tiptoes, peering over the foot rail with wide dark eyes that seemed the size of dinner plates.

Altair didn't mind much… Save the kid was an annoying little prick sometimes. Chattering on happily. He was always so fucking happy. And the fact that as soon as he'd hit puberty at fourteen he'd taken to imitating Altair in some things, the way he dressed, how he hunched his shoulders, how he 'prowled' around, how he even cut his fucking hair…

It got on Altair's nerves.

Well…

It most usually only got on his nerves when Malik commented on it in that snide 'holier-than-thou' way, the rest of the time he tried to ignore it. Tried to take it as a face value complement and not the boy's attempts to distance himself from the ever widening gap of a relationship he shared with his father.

Of course, Altair supposed, he should have seen it coming the first time. Barely three days out of the hospital, his arm in a cast, trussed up in a sling to support the torn and cut/repaired ligaments and the patch on his subclavian artery, and it's raining, the middle of the night… And there's Desmond on the back stoop dripping wet with a backpack stuffed full of comic books, a pair of Batman underpants and a plastic baggie full of pocket change he'd used to ride the bus across town at two in the morning to get there grinning up at him.

Altair remembered rubbing his face in exhaustion, the hospital bracelet he'd been too tired to cut off scratching his neck, leaning heavily on the door frame because he'd just swallowed a larger than prescribed amount of pain pills not twenty minutes earlier and was feeling politely stoned out of his mind, and he didn't quite believe the boy was actually there and he wasn't hallucinating from the Vicodin.

He didn't remember exactly what he'd said when he'd called Ethan after Desmond fell asleep on his couch, only that it involved the words; 'Why the fuck', and then Ethan whining and saying he'd come pick the boy up in the morning.

But Ethan didn't come in the morning, he came at nearly six the next evening after Hadiya had already fed the boy breakfast lunch and dinner then had to excuse herself to cry into Malik's shoulder in the bathroom when Desmond looked up at her with wide eyes and said he'd never had three meals in one day before.

And THAT had gone over like a fucking knife in the chest.

Altair could still hear Malik growling threats at Ethan, and see the taller, thinner man slowly backing away with his hands up his eyes wide in shock.

Malik, Altair had found, was the absolute last person on the planet you wanted mad at you. He knew that from personal experience.

So, no, Altair didn't REALLY mind Desmond's presence… Not as much as he pretended to anyway.

He showered quickly, rubbing a bar of soap through his hair, over his body and rinsing. Scrubbing himself with a towel, and pulling on underwear, a pair of jeans, a T-shirt and a hooded jacket because he'd found he remained calmer and less likely to pull that knife he'd started carrying in his sleeve and stab someone if he had his head covered. He shoved his feet into some socks and padded out of his room.

Over the last nine years, Malik had renovated their building. Downstairs on the main floor he still ran his print shop, though much larger than it had been to begin with, venturing into a small time publishing house. The second floor was Altair's apartment and office, the third and forth floors Malik had converted, with help from contractors, into a cozy little home for Hadiya and their four children, which included a rather luxurious rooftop garden and a large 'family' dining room.

Altair hadn't even made it halfway to his office before he was stopped by a cup of coffee shoved under his nose.

"Rough night?"

He blinked up at the young man's face, in an almost displeased way, but despite the perpetually chipper attitude and irritatingly bright smiles, Altair couldn't find a reason to be angry with the kid, ever.

Desmond had, after all, been able to escape when Rodrigo, his son and another of their helpers had been trying to drag him and Ezio off to their private jet.

Too bad Ezio hadn't been so lucky.

Having the kid around was a constant reminder of another of his failures, as if the stump of his finger and the scars left by the incident weren't enough.

The police had been less than pleased that he'd almost gotten himself killed that night, but thanks to him, they had one boy back, they had faces, had names, and had a laser pointer of a lead.

Six days after that little jet disappeared into the blue with Ezio onboard, Rodrigo and his son were arrested in Mexico.

But it seemed too late, because Ezio and the little 'Helper' Desmond had told them about had vanished.

Altair took the coffee and gulped it down, grunting like a caveman as he pushed open the door to his office and shuffled inside.

Most usually he liked mornings just fine. But the past week had been hell. Nothing but delivering summons, and tailing cheating husbands at all hours, and going over information Desmond would have to know to qualify for his own PI license.

It was mundane, and it was so goddamned tiring Altair wanted to throw his computer out the window and laugh maniacally when it crashed into the sidewalk. He was so sick of paperwork, so sick of numbers, so sick of everything. He was tempted to just disappear for a week or two and fend for himself on the streets to get away from it all.

He plopped into the chair behind his desk and leaned back, fumbling for the little remote he kept there that controlled the mechanical massager built into it, cranking it up on high and releasing a whine, his head dropping back, shoulders slumping.

Desmond was still standing there looking expectant.

Altair flipped a wrist at him and swiveled his chair around until he was staring up at a painting he'd bought from a college friend of Desmond's not long ago. He thought the kid's name was Rebecca or something like that.

The painting itself wasn't really that great, some impressionistic crap she'd done for finals and didn't want cluttering up her dorm.

Altair thought it looked oddly enough like the sensation that crawled under his skin whenever he had to deal with the two new sergeants in his father's precinct.

A flare of heat that sank low in his belly and curled up his spine like the blue splatters of paint erupting from the red and orange below, twisted and wound around the black stripes on the canvas.

Altair didn't want to admit it, but every time he sat there and stared at the damned thing long enough with the massager in his chair on high, thinking about that feeling, he became tragically horny.

He was just glad Desmond was too stupid sometimes to notice his boss's fascination with the half-assed mash of colors on the wall. It was bad enough the kid already thought he was a weirdo because he tended to go around his office without shoes, or that he knew more about the life of twelfth century monks and the impact of the Third Crusade on the Holy Land than he did about the life of the average American. Or that sometimes he would pull Desmond away from his work and instruct him on how to incapacitate an attacker with two hits, and on the odd occasion he was feeling particularly dark and broody and Desmond was chatting away about his university friends, Altair would smile in his disturbing way that showed too many teeth, and remind him that he knew seven ways to kill a man with his thumb, and would Desmond like to see one? Altair didn't need to add 'sick pervert' to the list of reasons Desmond had to be wary of the older man.

But then again, Desmond was an open minded individual, and seemed to take everything in stride, so maybe Altair's attraction to a woman who hated his guts and carried big guns, or a man who packed the other kind of heat could be over looked?

"You're distracted today."

Altair swung around in his chair again, still slouched low with his mouth hanging open, breath coming out in a vibrating whine. "What?"

Desmond grinned and dropped into a chair across the desk from him; "You're distracted… You get cockblocked at the bar or something?"

"I don't drink."

"Ah, yeah, sorry…" He flipped his fingers at his temple then leaned forward, crossing his arms on the desk and resting his chin on them, looking for a record fifteen seconds like a kicked puppy. And then there was a knock on the door and two little faces poked into the room.

Kalila and Saree, Malik's two daughters, and the bane of Altair's existence, peered in at him with large black eyes, cheeks pinked.

"Papa says you'd better come and eat something or he'll whap you one." Saree said from where she stood over her younger sister.

Kalila giggled in a high pitched seven-year-old voice and covered the gaps of missing front teeth in her mouth, then batted her big eyes at them. "Hi, Desmond." And in a flurry of curling black hair and lavender skirt, she darted away, feet thudding rather loudly on the floor.

Saree, though only two years older than her sister, seemed to have inherited Malik's cool demeanor, and prided herself in her ability to pop her little fists on her hips and glare at Altair in such a similar manner as her father that Altair would do whatever she said with a wince and a nervous scratch at his neck.

She looked Desmond up and down; "And if you wash your face and hands you're welcome to join us."

For a young man of twenty, nearing twenty-one years, Desmond didn't act any older than fifteen sometimes. Today… Today he leapt from his chair and disappeared into the bathroom, scrubbing his face with cold water and soap, and lathering his hands. He reappeared with his hairline wet and let the little girl inspect his hands, then watched him with a wrinkled nose as he practically skipped from the room.

Altair decided Desmond's one weakness was food. That kid would do anything if you dangled a bit of falafel or a hamburger in front of him.

Saree was tapping her foot, thin little arms crossed over her chest. "Are you coming?"

He grunted and thankfully, she took it to mean whatever she wanted, and left, though she didn't shut the door behind her, and Altair turned back around in his seat and stared at his painting for a few more minutes before with a sigh, the smell got the better of him, and he slunk from the room, up the wrought iron spiral staircase in the corner of the open air room (That technically was a 'waiting room' but he never had more than one or two people there at once and Hadiya had filled it with plants to make it feel more 'homey' and Altair gave Saree five dollars a week to keep them watered and otherwise tried to ignore them.)

He was halfway up the stairs when his phone rang. Caught right in the middle of what could be a paying job, and the tantalizing scent of home cooking, Altair suddenly wished there were two of him… Or at least, that Desmond was doing what he was supposed to be doing and answering the goddamned phones like a good little assistant instead of noshing his way through Hadiya's cookbook.

With a growl he decided he'd let the answering machine get the call, and climbed the rest of the stairs with his shoulders slouched.

Malik had a large mahogany colored antique table set up in their dining room. Altair didn't know where he'd managed to find a table so freaking big, but there it sat. Malik was at the head of the table, like always, Hadiya to his left empty sleeve instead of his right as was traditional. Altair thought it was more a sign of trust and love than having her to his right hand could ever be, so he didn't say anything.

He took his seat and the plate Gadil, Malik's five-year-old son, offered. The boy was a rather studious kid. Always proper, always polite, he spent most of his time curled against his father's side reading, or helping his mother watch his just-turned-two-year-old brother Zafir, who at times seemed to have more energy than all of his siblings combined and the attention span of a gnat.

When Altair sat down Zafir was sitting on Desmond's lap, munching away at a bit of bread his juice cup listing dangerously to the side. He was chattering away in an almost indecipherable toddler babble and pointing a little finger while the older male nodded and smiled, helping him tilt his cup so nothing was spilled.

Saree sat beside her mother, answering questions her parents asked about this and that. Smiling, laughing.

And then a little body was squirming into his lap and Altair lifted his arms to allow Kalila room to perch on his knee, setting her plate beside his.

The meal went on in this fashion, Zafir migrating, along with Kalila from one lap to another, until they both ended up, one on each of Malik's knees while the man tried to enjoy his after dinner coffee, laughing when Zafir insisted on 'sharing' his juice, holding up his sippy-cup to his father's face, only to wrench it away again with a shrill cackle when Malik pretended to taste it.

Hadiya had disappeared into the kitchen by that time, reappearing with packaged popsicles she used to herd the children up the stairs to the rooftop garden to play, smiling sweetly while she asked in a cooing voice, pressing rapid, too sweet kisses to Malik's forehead, if he, Altair and Desmond would mind doing the dishes.

He fussed, his hand traveling dangerously close to the back of her skirt, eyes gleaming impishly, muttering something Altair wished he hadn't heard, and Desmond was glad he couldn't understand, seeing as she swatted his hand and pinched the end of his nose between finger and thumb, threatening his manhood in a drippingly sweet voice while she made his head shake back and forth in an exaggerated 'no'.

"Fine…" He muttered rubbing his nose and waving her off with a jerk of his chin as she patted his head.

"Thank you." She gripped his jaw firmly and kissed him once, then disappeared up the steps after the children.

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	5. Chapter 5

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_(A/N; Desmond is 20, Altair is 28, Malik is 30, Hadiya is 31, and Ezio would be 21.)_

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**Chapter 5; Cold Case**

There were always more dishes than seemed possible. Stacks of pots and pans, ceramic tureens and delicately decorated plates and saucers. It was always daunting to look at, upon stepping into the kitchen. Wondering secretly; 'How long has it been since someone did freaking dishes!' but at the same time recalling that dishes were washed after every meal, and that Hadiya's cooking was so good for a reason.

So, unless you wanted to stand there for more than an hour scrubbing and washing, it was a two or three person job…

Too bad Malik's idea of helping with the dishes was sitting on the counter eating M&M's he'd poured into a pile on the granite and separated by color, laughing while Altair and Desmond washed then dried.

Desmond, despite his love for Hadiya's cooking, detested doing dishes, and became a rather bitter and foul tempered individual when presented with the task. Scrubbing furiously at plates and pots, his mouth twisted up into a childish pout, eyebrows hooked and his eyes intense.

Altair, himself, rather enjoyed it truthfully. It was repetitive, easy to do, took very little thought, and on most occasions he volunteered to do it simply because he could put on his headphones, crank the volume up on his MP3 and completely zone out without fearing someone would walk up behind him.

It seemed though, that doing dishes was a bane to Malik's very DNA, he and his children tried to keep themselves as far away from the chore as humanly possible, even going so far as to avoid the kitchen all together, so he didn't have to worry about them. And Hadiya, having studied psychology and the side effects of PTSD in college, as well as having lived with both Altair and Malik for the better part of eleven years now, had adopted Malik's tendency to simply pause in the doorway and flip the light switch a few times to get his attention.

Desmond was grumbling bitterly while he scrubbed, and Malik was chatting absently with Altair in Arabic while he chewed, asking how things were going, and if he'd had to deliver summons to any famous people again.

Altair shook his head. Nothing important… Cheating husbands, legal documents, although he had gotten a call before he'd come up stairs, and he'd have to listen to the message when he went back down.

Malik nodded, and just to be ornery, tossed an M&M at Altair's head, chuckling when it bounced off and slid somewhere under the fridge.

Altair gave him a sideways look, halfway between irritation and indulgence, and slid the last of Hadiya's decorated plates into its shelf while Desmond finished scrubbing the flatware.

"Think you can handle putting those away?" He motioned toward the forks and spoons.

Desmond grunted without looking, and Altair turned to leave, feeling two, maybe three more M&M's bounce off his head while Malik practically had a giggle fit behind him.

Altair was just taking the last few steps on the staircase when his phone started ringing again. He pushed open the door to his office and was able to flatten himself on his chest across the desk and snatch up the phone before the forth ring, taking note of the number on the caller ID.

"Hello Detective."

The other end of the phone line was dominated primarily by background chatter and the click of computer keys for all of two seconds. Then there was a rather derisive scoff; "Finally… What took you so damned long?"

He shrugged and reached to fiddle with the long thin drawer on his desk, still laying across it like a boneless cat. "Do Detectives not eat?"

"Nothing that won't give you diabetes or a heart attack… But this isn't a social call, Altair, this is business."

"Ah, here I was hoping you just wanted to hear about my day."

"Do I look like mom to you?" There was a lull in the typing and then; "How are—How are things anyway."

"Busy I guess… Running all over the city delivering summons, stalking unfaithful husbands and wives like a vampire. Endless mountains of paperwork… The usual." He shrugged again and glanced over his shoulder when the door creaked and Desmond slunk in like a kicked pug, snorting and practically foaming at the mouth.

Altair counted to three in his head and sure enough the moment Desmond laid eyes on him he was smiling and pointing. Miming the words 'What the hell are you doing?' at him like a bad stage actor.

He gave Desmond the finger and wiggled around until he could stand up again, shuffling around to drop into his chair.

"That's not what I meant…" An impatient sigh from the man on the other end of the phone and Altair could have sworn he heard brains rattling in his head. "Forget it."

"OK, so what's this business you were so intent to tell me about that you had to interrupt my lunch?"

The typing resumed; "You remember about eight, nine years ago some kids getting snatched?"

"Kids get snatched all the time, you've got to be more specific." He slouched lower in his seat and clicked the 'low' setting on his chair's remote.

"Some Illinois University student and her two friends just came in here about an hour and a half ago with pictures from their spring break trip to Morocco."

Altair snorted; "You called me just to brag about seeing some barely legal college girls' spring break photos?"

The typing stopped; "No, I called to tell you that one of the people in those photographs looks identical to the age progression photo of the Auditore kid."

Altair felt his blood run cold and every muscle in his body went rigid. "It's a coincidence, it has to be—"

"I'm faxing the photos over now… I'll let you decide if it's a 'coincidence' or not."

Altair sat up, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder, snapping his fingers at Desmond and motioning to the reams of printer paper stacked on a shelf in the corner of the room by his filing cabinets.

Desmond's face became all eyes in confusion, but he tore open a package anyway and handed a thick fistful of paper to Altair, standing in front of his desk with his hands clasped under his chin like a little kid eager for approval.

Altair turned his chair quickly, shoving the paper into the Combo printer by his computer and turning it on.

He could hear the noise of the police station over the phone. Chatting, some drunk howling in the background, someone laughing at a rude joke.

If ever a man's stare could cause something to spontaneously combust Altair's little second hand Combo printer was ticking down its last seconds before ignition.

It seemed to take hours before finally the damned little green light blinked in rapid succession and it screeched, printing slowly but surely, two pages and the FAX confirmation sheet.

Altair snatched it up, eyes wide, breath held as he stared.

His heart leapt into his throat.

He remembered a frightened little face below a dirty fringe of hair, wide hazel eyes wet and red rimmed with fear, a little mouth with a deep, scabbed over cut.

That hopeless feeling as he'd watched Rodrigo drag the boy away and he'd been powerless to stop him.

There he was…

A close up from a family portrait taken just a few weeks before he'd been kidnapped, a crooked mischievous, self assured grin, right beside a two year old age progression photo with the added scar. A handsome nineteen-year-old with his father's grin and his mother's eyes… And on the second page was an obvious enhancement if the size of the girl's ear, which hadn't been cropped out of the photo, could be trusted.

It was a street, a typical Moroccan street at sunset with vendors and pedestrians, but there standing on a corner with his face turned just enough to be visible in the photo, looking off at something on the other side of the street, was a young man. Thin and pale, dark circles under his eyes, long brown hair and a scar through the right side of his mouth.

_"It's my trademark…"_

At first glance Altair thought it wasn't possible that the spunky little kid from the photos could have turned into this half starved, dirty looking young man on a corner in Morocco— But the eyes.

Altair knew the look in the boy's eyes so well his chest ached. He remembered that look as Rodrigo had dragged the boy around the corner and out of sight. The hopelessness. The pain-

"Altair, are you still there?"

He jerked, teeth grinding together, still staring at the photo. "Y-yeah," His voice cracked. "Yeah, I'm here."

"Okay… You spaced out on me there for a second."

"Where did the girl say she was?"

"Chefchaouen… They did a tour. History majors, she kept going on and on about this 'adorable little bag' she bought and the fascinating architecture." He could hear the frustration in the other man's voice.

"How long ago was the photo taken?"

"Ten days…"

Ten days may as well have been ten more years in a case like this. Who knew what condition Ezio had been living in, who knew where he was, or if he was even still alive.

The man on the other end of the phone paused and took a deep breath before he spoke; "Since he's presumed dead, without hard evidence the FBI won't send anyone to check it out. I spoke to the Deputy Director already… They said that it was a million in one chance that he was still alive after nine years…"

Altair took a deep breath and shoved all the feelings down. All the anger, all the fear, and the remembered pain. "I'm not the FBI…"

"I'm not asking you to get involved. I can't ask that. The case went cold years ago and he's assumed dead… Hell, the family had a fucking _memorial service_ for the kid for Christ'sake—"

He could hear it. Could hear the desperation and hope in his voice. "You're not asking me anything but my opinion on a few pictures, Walker."

"Well, alright then, good!" There was a long pause and Altair heard papers shuffling and someone in the background shouting out something in Spanish.

"Mom's been asking about you."

"What'd you tell her?" Altair scribbled quickly on a piece of loose leaf notebook paper, balled it up and threw it at Desmond, who'd retreated back to his own seat and was playing Tetris on his phone. The ball hit him in the cheek and Desmond looked up at him with a hurt expression on his face. Altair pointed emphatically at the wad of paper then at Desmond and made a 'telephone' fist with his left hand scowling.

"I told her I'd ask how you were doing."

Desmond snatched up the paper, and flattened it;

_'I need to go to __Gibraltar__ tomorrow, one way ticket, don't know when I'll be back, hold down the fort while I'm gone. Your test is Monday at 11, don't be late.'_

"I'm doing good…" Altair leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. "Thinking about taking a vacation…"

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_(A/N: __Walker__ is one of Altair's adoptive brothers… He's the usual go-between for their mother, who was not pleased at all when her husband kicked Altair out. There are 3 other brothers, but I haven't figured out what to name them yet… Any suggestions?)_

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	6. Chapter 6

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**Chapter 6; Life is but a Dream**

There was something calming about airplanes. Something almost spiritual about soaring through the clouds, suspended between heaven and earth.

Too bad Altair was stuck in the seat right in front of a new mother and her nine-month-old baby. Her nine-month-old baby who had decided about ten minutes after boarding the plane that it was going to scream its little heart out!

Up until about halfway between JFK and the layover in London, somewhere high above the Atlantic ocean, Altair decided he never wanted to have children. He didn't care how cute and pink and fat babies were, didn't care how many Malik and Hadiya decided to pop out, he never wanted to be THAT FUCKING _CLOSE_ to a child under three, **again.**

Thankfully though, he only had to sit through twelve hours of the noise, and upon making it through Customs and out of the terminal in Gibraltar, he allowed himself four hours of sleep on a bench bent over his duffle, pretending he was not on a bench in the airport, and was in fact in his bed in Downtown Chicago with that spunky Sergeant Thorpe and her HEAT packing partner.

When his watch started beeping Altair was already awake, holding perfectly still because a bird of some kind, he thought it was a pigeon, had decided to perch on his hooded head while he'd slept and he was praying that warm spot on his right hand was just sunlight or perhaps drool, and not what he thought it was.

He turned out to be wrong, and it was bird shit and for the rest of that day any time he saw a pigeon he would kick at it for spite.

He took a ferry from Algeciras to the port city of Ceuta in Morocco. Standing there gripping the ship's railing as if his life depended on it staring down at the churning water with a nauseous expression on his face.

Altair didn't like deep water. Few people knew it, but despite the fact he could swim like a fucking fish, when allowed time or leisure to think about it he tended to panic realizing there was more water under him than he could possibly imagine and should he put his face down into it he wouldn't ever be able to see the bottom. It made him worry about what kind of hideous behemoth was lurking around below him, just waiting to swim up and bite him in half like fucking Jaws or something. He'd made the mistake of letting this slip years and years ago to Malik and Kadar, before the Incident, and had received a bright pink pair of water wings and a snorkel as a Birthday gift.

It took a little over half an hour to cross the Strait of Gibraltar. The skies were merrily spotted with clouds, a few fat cumulus hanging around drawing dark patches over the water and the mountains, the air tinged with that pale pink of humidity that seemed to hang over the entire African continent and most of the Middle East, veiling everything like a piece of thin gauze.

Altair was a history nut. He relished in it, read any book he could find on the subject and the only channel on his TV he found he watched besides the odd pay-per-view porno was the History channel. And as much as he wanted to look around at the living history of Ceuta, Altair found a cab, speaking slowly to the driver because there was a subtle difference between Syrian Arabic and Moroccan Arabic. A lilt almost, a rhythm that was distinctly Spanish, just like most of the architecture was a mash of the two cultures, a beautiful tapestry of stone and brick and mortar, and was able to talk the man into driving him where he needed to go.

It took almost two hours to get from Ceuta to Chefchaouen, two hours of hearing about the man's family and the problems he was having with his daughter, and how sometimes he wished the girl would simply find a good man and get married so he didn't have to deal with her forwardness and outgoing attitude. And by the time Altair climbed out of the taxi at the hotel it was getting dark, and there was no way Altair was traipsing around in the dark in a strange place he wasn't prepared to deal with, even if Chefchaouen was boasted to be the safest place to be. He didn't care how good the food smelled, didn't care how the very energy of the earth called to him in a way that said he was close, close to some ancient place he'd never been but had known since before birth. (He didn't like the sensation at all because it usually gave him nightmares about gold sand and shady ancient gardens that made him wish History wasn't such a fascinating subject.) And spent most of the night sleepless in his motel room on the internet looking at Hybrid maps, hoping to get an idea of what the city was like, other than the angles and winding streets. Beautiful architecture and, if the sounds from the roof terrace could be trusted, colorful nightlife.

Desmond sent a few messages and e-mails before finally turning on the Voice Call option because he was tired of typing, then began nattering on and on about how his school friends did this or that, and how the annoying British Prick he was stuck partnered with in his Lit class was a nasty bastard and no matter how nice Desmond treated him, the asshole was always rude to him.

Altair didn't think he'd ever heard Desmond in such a foul mood but chose to say nothing about it.

It wasn't until almost sunrise Chicago time, Desmond having stayed up all night studying furiously, that the young man's patience finally broke.

"What are you doing in Morocco anyway, Altair?"

And he couldn't lie to him. Couldn't keep it from him, because seeming to defy his manic attitude Desmond had somehow grown above the influence of his father's unnecessarily blunt lessons on life, and turned out to be an optimist disguised as a realist.

Altair sighed deeply, reclining back on the cheap hotel mattress, scrubbing his face with his hands, then staring with a pained expression at the stump of his left ring finger, reaching up to trace the scars on his mouth and shoulder.

"I'm following a lead."

"On what?" Desmond was eating Doritos, Altair could recognize the crunch of them through the speakers and the rattle of the bag.

"The Auditore case."

For a full three seconds Desmond was utterly silent, and then his voice was close to the microphone, breath causing static and loud white noise, and Altair could hear the panic in his words; "You found him? You—Is he OK?"

"It's an unofficial lead, so don't get your hopes up."

"But you think you've found him!" His voice was rising, cracking like a preadolescent, and Altair suddenly regretted telling him.

"I don't know yet… Just-just keep it to yourself, OK? It's probably just some kid who looks like—"

"Altair, you wouldn't have flown halfway across the fucking planet if you thought it was _'just some guy'!"_

He had a point, as much as Altair didn't want to admit it. "I'm just here to prove it wrong."

"But you're hoping—"

"Yes I'm hoping, you annoying little shit. I'm hoping it's him because that would mean I didn't let a bunch of freaks kill another little kid on my watch!"

Desmond sighed and was silent for a good fifteen minutes, then, in the background, Altair heard the young man's alarm clock go off.

Altair rubbed his face and rolled onto his side on the bed, "Go to class, Des… I'll call you later."

"Okay, just—Just be careful, Altair…"

"When am I not careful?"

Desmond snorted and the connection was broken leaving Altair staring at his computer screen and a section of map that showed the Al Makhzen market the two girls had taken the picture in.

He'd start there.

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_(A/N: The reason Altair went to Gibraltar and not Casablanca is a slight subterfuge, Gibraltar is closer to Spain, and Altair could then say he went to __Spain__ and wasn't following the unofficial lead. Any questions, just ask!)_

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	7. Chapter 7

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**Chapter 7; Hunter Gatherer **

Altair had, in his time since being released from the hospital, and upon Malik's prompting—(Which was actually him saying in that stern almost condescending voice _'If you don't get out of that bed your legs are going to rot and fall off!'_) Taken up a number of hobbies. One of which was photography. He'd bought a camera and started taking shots of his apartment or his office. At least once a week he took one of Desmond in a compromising position. (Mostly when the young man got bored and scratched himself, forgot to zip his pants when leaving the bathroom, or slid a finger up his nose.)

He also had been the one to take every single one of the photos in the fat albums chronicling Hadiya and Malik's wedding, and a one-a-day of Hadiya standing sideways before the wall in the kitchen during each of her pregnancies.

Another one of his hobbies had started when Malik began complaining about a group of neighborhood boys somehow getting onto his roof and vandalizing his garden at night. Altair spent three nights camped out on the roof to catch the little bastards, ending up tackling one of them like an offensive lineman and watching in awe as his three friends scaled the front of the adjacent building and ran away over the rooftops.

Once Altair had been able to subdue the kid, twisting his arm behind his back and pressing his knee right into his lumbar, he was able to get some answers… And make a deal.

_"I won't arrest you little shits if you; Number One… STOP fucking with the tomatoes. Number Two… Stop tearing up the wind chimes, those things came from __Syria__ and cost more than your LIFE. And THREE… Tell me how the hell you guys are able to play Spiderman like that."_

Two weeks later found Altair on a rooftop in the old meat packing district playing 'Spiderman' with a group of fifteen-year-olds.

Eight years of it had made walking on the sidewalk seem mundane and pointless, and had earned Altair a few points with a couple police footmen in and out of his father's precinct when he'd helped them run down perps…

It would have been pointless to say that the shocked screams and cries when Altair climbed up the side of a food stall to survey the area from above weren't surprising, he'd gotten used to it.

Chefchaouen's al Makhzen was a wide pale place bordered on one side by a street and dotted by trees. It was open and the sun glared off most of it, practically blinding him. He wasn't used to all the light. Chicago, though sunny, remained partially cloudy most of the time.

There were the usual vendors selling fruit or textiles, and women with delicate steady hands painting plates and bowls. A butcher, a man selling hats, carts of food. More beautifully decorated pottery. It was a haven for tourists, of which there seemed to be quite a few.

Part of Altair felt as if he'd stepped back in time, and oddly enough he liked that idea. Felt adventurous and heroic in a fanciful way he would never admit out loud.

He jumped down from the side of the building and hung his camera around his neck by the strap, hands loose but ready at his sides.

Today was scouting. He'd wander around and map the area from the ground, maybe ask around and show the photo to people who gave him a 'good vibe'.

It was strange, and he'd never told anyone about it before, but since that night nine years before, Altair felt as if he'd gained a sixth sense of some kind. It was almost as if he could feel it. Oddly enough he was reminded of what Alicia, the homeless woman with the plush cat, had said. Reminded of the smears of color he'd seen while under the influence of whatever Rodrigo's son had shot him full of.

People just felt different.

Working his way around the market he stopped twice, once to buy a kebob when the smell got the better of him, and once again to study a table spread with sharp finely made knives.

He bartered back and forth with the merchant good naturedly and examined a few of the knives while he weighed the man in his head. He 'felt' honest, felt like the kind of person who would—

_"Eh,"_ The man was motioning to his mouth; _"Where'd you get that scar, friend?"_

Altair looked up and pasted a calm almost disinterested look on his face; "Oh, this?" He touched it with the pad of his thumb. _"About ten years ago in a fight… He would have gouged my eye out if I hadn't moved. Why do you ask?"_

The man chuckled and waved a hand dismissively; _"I have seen a few with similar marks."_

Altair shrugged as if he didn't think anything of it, and plucked up a set of five silver throwing knives, checking the balance of the blades by laying them over a finger. _"Maybe I should find someone and take a picture, my brother would think it was funny."_ He motioned to his face again, then back to the knives; _"These are nice, I'll take them."_

The merchant laughed again and patted his shoulder then waved his hand at the knives Altair was looking at, leaning forward to whisper to him; _"You don't want those… The steel is poor. I have something here that you'll really like."_

_"Ah, well, you're the master." _Altair had found hollow flattery was the best lubricant in some situations. Especially when dealing with someone like this plump man. He was obviously smart, but not so smart that a few compliments wouldn't loosen his tongue.

The man glanced left and right and ducked a hand under the table, coming out with a palm sized wooden box inlaid with silver and carved designs.

The knives inside were of much higher quality, they were also much older. Altair also had a feeling they were probably stolen from the way the man kept glancing around, but didn't voice that. He, like Malik, had a covetous streak when it came to fine knives. His own fascination with them really took hold when he was adopted and came face to face with the antique Marine Saber hanging above the fireplace in his father's home office. A meticulously cared for relic passed down through six generations. Flanked on each side by newer versions and photos of the men who'd held them.

When Altair had been a child, he'd wanted dearly for his own photo to hang on that wall, beside his adopted ancestors.

Now? Now he hadn't stepped foot in his father's house in a decade.

It went without saying that he bought the knives, and the decorative box the merchant had showcased them in. He also whispered that he would probably be back before his vacation was over to buy a gift for his brother and nephews, and left with another compliment to the merchant for his favor.

Shortly after that, while following the tantalizing smell of something spiced and sweet he spotted a strange sight from the corner of his eye.

A young man with blindingly blonde hair sitting cross legged on a blanket squeezed between two small stalls, he was tanned, and smiling brightly at everyone that passed, chatting away about the weather, the heat, anything he could get someone to stop and converse with him about in flawless Arabic.

What caught Altair's eye, other than his hair, were the many small canvases arranged around him in a semicircle. Tilted so the bright colors shone brightly in the light.

Altair thought perhaps this young man could teach Desmond's wanna-be artist friend Rebecca a thing or two.

There were far too few things that could shake Altair's mind from food that smelled as good as what he'd been chasing around the market. Illness was one, the opportunity or promise of sex was another (and that really depended on WHO was distracting him) and then there was that strange sixth sense of his. That tightening, drawing sensation at the pit of his stomach.

He approached the young man warily, biting his nails because he was really wanting to hunt down that smell, but then again this feeling… The blue feeling he got from him-

"Good afternoon! That's a fine box you've got there!"

He was surprised more by the English than the fact the young man had noticed him. "Thank you." He muttered around his finger, still staring at the paintings, eyes catching on blues and yellows before landing on a larger piece near the young man's right hip.

And when he lowered his hand from his mouth to point at it the young blonde released a quiet cry and leaned forward grinning, blue eyes alight, twisting his head to peer up under Altair's hood. "I know that scar! You can't hide from me! What are you doing back so soon and dressed li—" And he went very pale. "Oh…"

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_(A/N; SURPRISE!)_

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	8. Chapter 8

_(A/N; A friend of mine made a soundtrack playlist for this fic :P The link is on my profile page. Just click the little author picture there in the upper right corner. I listened to it and I think it flows really well with the story. Even parts I haven't posted yet :D And I think you guys might like it. Think of it as a hint as to how this thing is going to end.)_

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_(NOTE; I'm not Italian, so if it's wrong, let me know.)_

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**Chapter 8; The Artist**

"Oh…" He drew a hand to his mouth and his pale face blushed bright red; "I'm sorry… I thought you were someone else." He leaned back, staring at his knees.

Altair blinked at him, then dropped into a crouch to be on the young man's level. "You know you're the second person to say you recognized this," He touched his lip with his thumb and squinted through the sunlight reflecting off the young man's hair.

He wrung his fingers nervously, nibbling at the inside of his cheek—And then he was speaking in quick almost frightened Italian; "M-Mi dispiace. Non avevo capito! Io non lo dirò a nessuno. Prometto che non dirò _una parola!"_

His thin pale hands began quickly pulling all his little canvases toward himself, stacking them up, standing quickly and flipping the blanket he'd been sitting on over them.

Altair only just managed to grab his arm before he darted away… And wound up with a surprisingly strong little fist smacking upward against the under side of his chin.

People shouted in alarm as he stumbled backward clutching his mouth, still somehow managing to cling to his box, and he was able to retain his balance, eyes darting left and right, catching a blur of pale gold from the corner of his eye as the young man darted off into the crowd and up a winding side street.

Altair growled and took after him, the streets and alleyways twisted blurs until suddenly he found himself alone, the young man's feet pattering off somewhere to his left.

Growling seemed to be the extent of his vocabulary and he turned to the nearest building. A squat brick house painted light blue all the way into the street, and started climbing.

An old woman sitting in her kitchen pealing potatoes blinked as he climbed by her window, grumbled something under her breath and shook her head, seemingly unfazed.

The rooftops were well taken care of. Rust red ceramic tiles or tin, that was warm enough under his shoes to create just the perfect amount of friction so he didn't slip and fall to the gutter.

And thankfully, most of the gaps and streets were narrow and he had very little trouble leaping across them. He even spotted a few young boys in shorts and t-shirts free running a few streets over, pointing, laughing and waving at him as he passed.

He waved back absently, but continued watching the streets for that—_There!_

Following the young man was surprisingly easy, despite the many twists and turns he took. The only hard part was the elevation. It grew steadily steeper the farther he went, and Altair was NOT used to having to run uphill on rooftops. By the time the young man leaned his back against a wall and slid down clutching the bundle of his canvases Altair was completely out of breath and clutching his chest in one hand and his camera in the other. Sweat pouring off of him in rivulets.

He hadn't had such a workout in years!

Somehow, he envied the scrawny blonde, and, tucking the box he'd bought and its cargo of little knives, into the zipping pocket on his jacket, he climbed down the face of the building across from the blonde and dropped the last six or so feet to stand before him.

The blonde flinched visibly and almost cried out, clapping a hand over his mouth and shrinking in on himself, one of his worn Converse low tops flipping off his foot as he drew his legs close to his chest, clutching his paintings.

Altair held up one finger and bent over his knees panting, surprised when the young man didn't attempt to run.

Three tries to speak and Altair was still panting, so with another growl, he reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out the carefully folded photo, as well as his ID, holding both out in a shaking hand before the young blonde's face.

"Oh…"

Altair choked on a laugh; "Yeah 'OH'…" He dropped onto his behind against the wall beside the blonde, head tilted back, pushing his hood off his head.

There was a silent moment while the pictures and ID were examined with deep, blue eyed scrutiny before they were handed back and the blonde plucked up his shoe and shoved it back on. Retying the knotted laces. "You're looking for him?"

Altair nodded, face still scrunched up as he panted for breath. His head was aching.

The blonde made a humming noise and rose to his feet again, dusting off the behind of his tight gray jeans, and carefully picking up his bundle, clutching it to his chest. "You need water… Come. I live near here."

Altair stared at him as he walked away, a purposeful walk on thin long legs and bony pale ankles visible in a gap between slightly too short pants and shoes, and with a groan (at least it wasn't a growl) he climbed to his feet and followed.

'I live near here.' Was a lie. Altair knew it was a lie, and still followed him. Spluttering and trying to bark out the questions he needed answers to, but by that time his head was roaring, and it took all his energy to stay on his feet.

The young man was humming joyfully, it sounded oddly like Aretha Franklin, but Altair chose to say nothing as a tall, rather grandiose door was unlocked and held open—Only to greet Altair with stairs.

"Just at the top to the left!" The door was locked again, and then the blonde darted past him, prancing up the stairs like a fucking deer, calling out in perfect Italian; "Mi Amore! Sono tornado!"

Altair's stomach tightened again, and he forced himself the rest of the way up the stairs, blinking around blearily at the… He couldn't call it anything other than a 'studio'.

There was a thumping noise from a small closed off room near the back of the open floor and the blonde turned around, smiling at Altair brightly.

"I don't think I told you my name…"

Altair shook his head, "No, you didn't."

"Ah! Sorry. You can call me Leo." His eyes closed when he smiled, and he looked like some pink cheeked cherub… And then the door opened, and out tumbled the last thing Altair expected.

There was a daschund. A fat, white, gray and light brown daschund and the biggest freaking cat Altair had ever seen.

It couldn't have been anything other than a lion, mane included.

And Leo dropped onto his knees and rubbed his face in its fur. Cooing loudly; 'Oh, there's Daddy's babies! Were you good today? Yes, of course you were! I see no mice! I see no piddles!' and he scratched vigorously behind the little dog's ears while it licked the side of his face.

Leo climbed to his feet then and padded off to the kitchen, both lion and dog following him, returning a moment later with a tall glass of water.

Altair stared at it warily until the blonde pushed it into his hands insistently and started chattering away at him. "There are no parasites in it, it's been scientifically proven, or would you like me to put _bleach_ in it?"

"B-bleach?"

Leo nodded and wondered off toward one of the big tables set strategically around the room. "Yes, chlorine is bleach, chlorine is used to 'sanitize' water for drinking… Therefore, they put bleach in it."

Altair felt his stomach tense, and tentatively he sipped at the water, reminding himself that he had brought a course of tough antibiotics along just in case he wound up with a parasite or something equally disgusting while traipsing around in a foreign country.

"Chefchaouen is one of the safest places on earth. As well as the healthiest… Though that last bit is just my own opinion." He smiled and motioned toward a chair across the heavily cluttered table from him.

Altair shifted uncomfortably on his feet when the lion of a cat walked over and began rubbing its chin against his knee.

"So, uh… You k-know this guy?" He walked forward quickly dodging the lion and took the seat he was offered, dropping the photo on top of a stack of sketches and writing.

"Oh, yes… He and I—He and I worked together for a short while. He comes around every so often…"

Altair felt every ounce of hope he'd held back crumble. If this young man was working here, then it couldn't be Ezio.

"He was actually the one to help me pay off my debt…"

Altair nodded, not really listening, more absorbed in the fact that once again, he'd screwed up.

"I haven't seen him in a week. He told me he was afraid the Boss was going to sell him… He's not in any trouble, is he?"

Altair blinked, and blinked again, mentally rewinding the conversation and focusing on Leo's face. The pinched, dull look around his eyes, and the worried, nauseated… Greenish tint to his skin.

"Sell him?"

Leo took a deep breath and let it out slowly, gaze turned toward something on the tabletop he began fiddling with as he spoke.

"I was taken from a theater when I was nine… I—" He shook his head; "He and I were bought by the same man about ten years ago… We worked the streets in Casablanca for three years, were sold as a pair to a man in Spain when I proved to be—difficult. Then back to another in Fez. I painted on walls and bits of pottery when I could, saved the money and with his help paid off my debt by the time I was seventeen… I've been working five years straight now to pay off his, and if he's sold before I can—"

Altair didn't even hear it all. Bits and pieces, but it all came back to one thing. One horrifying, terrible thing;

'We worked the streets in Casablanca.'

And suddenly it all made sense.

'It's my trademark… That way everyone knows from whom their wares have come.'

_Trafficking… Rodrigo wasn't just a kidnapper… He was trafficking children._

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	9. Chapter 9

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_"Italic"s = Arabic_

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**Chapter 9; White Rabbit**

Altair rocked back in his seat, hand flat on the tabletop as if to keep himself from floating away.

Leo was still talking, but he only heard half of it.

"Rodrigo's 'Bunnies' have become a rare and expensive thing since he was put away. That is why it's taking so long to save back enough money to pay off Ezio's debt." Leo scratched at the edge of his lips, eyes locked on the scar marking Altair's face. "Though I suppose you would know how highly sought after he would be… I've met very few people who have his marks who were not Pets." He paused, looking longingly at his mouth, imagining someone else, and a dark, almost hollow look came over his face. "I was lucky… My debt was only twelve-thousand… Ezio's is over sixty by now." His voice was quiet, pained, but somehow steady.

Altair still felt sick to his stomach, shaky as if suffering a high fever.

He took a long drink of his water and rested his forehead in his hand while he digested all these horrible new facts. When he looked up again, the lion of a cat was in Leo's lap and the young man had his face buried in its fur.

"Can you clarify 'debt' for me? I don't understand how someone who's been kidnapped and f-forced into this against their will could mount debt to their kidnapper."

Leo peeked carefully over the cat's shoulder, eyes large and innocent looking; "There was a two-hundred dollar an hour charge for me… Five for Ezio… We were lucky to get one, two a month where we were working… Six hundred a week for our room, our food, clothing and healthcare… Double if one of us was hurt or sick. If we d-didn't make enough to pay for it, He would-" Leo swallowed thickly, eyes squeezing closed, and he lowered his face into the cat's back, his words muffled. "Sometimes he would just beat us, other times he wanted something else."

Altair opened his mouth to tell the young man that he could stop, he didn't have to tell him, but Leo was still talking, didn't seem to hear him.

"I got sick." He cleared his throat; "M-my appendix ruptured and I was going into septic shock… Our Boss was going to kill me and cut his losses, but Ezio showed up out of nowhere—I'd never seen so much money…" He paused for a few moments and his shoulders shook. "When it comes to your debt your boss can sometimes be greedy and refuse to let it drop for the previously agreed price, especially if he believes you have more money squirreled away somewhere. He ended up paying over twenty-five thousand to get me out of there." Leo's head lifted and his eyes were bloodshot, wet tracks down each cheek. "I don't know where he got that money, even to this day." He snuffed and scrubbed his face on his sleeve, then continued; "We took a bus from Fez to here… I don't remember half of it. Just that I couldn't understand how someone so much younger than I was, could carry me around like I weighed nothing!"

Altair tried to ignore the fact the young man looked half starved and chose to just keep listening instead of saying anything.

"He put me in the hospital and disappeared. I didn't see him again for a month, and when I was discharged, there he was." He looked around the room smiling sadly and wiped his eyes with his fingertips; "I've been here since."

"How often does E-Ezio come around?"

Leo was quiet for a few seconds; "Once a month— If I'm lucky… I didn't see him for a whole year once. I thought he was dead. But then he showed up one night— came in through the window like a little bird. He still owes me a new set of cups. Every time he comes over he _breaks_ something."

Altair was reminded of how Desmond usually managed to jam his combo printer, or somehow download a virus onto his computer while trying to play video games when things were slow. Not to mention the fact he'd gone through six office chairs for the kid. He didn't understand how someone Desmond's size could break so many damned office chairs.

And suddenly Leo was on his feet, scrubbing his face dry and opening cabinets, or pushing aside colorful hanging tapestries to gain access to hidden shelves behind them. "Our first boss kept Him mostly to himself when he heard Rodrigo had been arrested. Though, I imagine that was not so much of a blessing as you would think… I took care of him the best I could, sometimes he would let me, and others he wouldn't allow anyone to touch him… He's a very private person, everything considered."

Leo dropped a handful of pages and tattered notebooks on the table before Altair, tapped his chin and flitted off again with his hands at shoulder level, fingers flexing as if playing piano, talking a mile a minute. He shoved a half painted tapestry depicting what would soon be a nude lounging on black pillows on a vividly crimson couch out of the way and knocked on a door that Altair hadn't realized was there.

The hackles on his neck stood on end when he realized he and Leo hadn't been alone in the apartment at all. A woman dressed in a long dark red tunic with splits up the sides and little else appeared from one curtained off dark room, yawning and scratching her head. She was very pretty and had long flowing dark hair and almond shaped eyes. _"What are you doing? I had customers until early morning and here you are waking me up when I'm trying to sleep… Leo you pig, what are you doing!"_

The young man had flung back another tapestry, this one just thick muslin with a half planned charcoal sketch on it and forced open another hidden door, disappearing into a dark room.

A few seconds later there was shrill shouting;

"OUT! BASTARD, **OUT!"**

Leo darted from the room hands clamped over his head, eyes wide and a shoe sailed out of the dark room behind him, narrowly missing the back of his skull.

The woman with long hair chuckled under her breath; _"She's menstruating, Leo darling… You know how moody she gets. Let her alone."_ Her almond shaped eyes settled on Altair then and her full lips curled upward into a seductive grin.

_"Hello there… I do hope Leo is being a good host and entertaining you… If not I can surely—"_ Her eyes flicked to the front of Altair's pants and slid slowly back up to his face, lust burning clearly in them; _"—think of something."_

_"Paola, he's not here for you,"_ Leo was darting around again like a humming bird, gathering bits of paper and notebooks, searching for something.

_"Oh."_ It came out as a flat, annoyed dull sound. _"Then why did you wake me up?"_

_"He's a private investigator from the __US__. He's looking for Ezio. He needs information."_

Altair's heart leapt and in his head he started chanting __ all over again while at the same time agonizing over the fact that Ezio had spent the last nine years of his life as a flesh slave…

He felt suddenly very ill.

Paola flapped her hand; _"Were you even listening to him when he left here last week? The Master was trying to swindle him! Kept refusing to take anything less than two-hundred thousand to release him from his debts! So he took what money he had and left. He's gone. Run away! You'll be lucky if he hasn't killed himself by now the way he was acting!"_

Altair was on his feet, and his voice was echoed by Leo; "WHAT!"

"STOP SHOUTING!" Came from the dark room.

Paola flinched and began tapping her dainty foot on the floor. _"He's been acting oddly for months, you know that. You're the one who brought it to my attention, remember? You were afraid he was on drugs."_

_"But why would he run away! If he's caught there's no telling what HE will do-"_

_"Where is he staying? Where did he go?"_ Altair spoke quickly, heart pounding in his chest, dread weighing his stomach down like a cannon ball to the gut.

Paola's eyes narrowed and slowly she turned to look at him from under her lashes.

Leo sighed weightily and spoke up in a quiet voice; "There is a woman in Rabat… she's helped him before, gotten medicine for him when he was sick, or helped tend him when he was hurt. He might have gone there."

_"He could have gone to __Fez__ as well… Back to HIM. He always said he'd rather work for That Man again than be cheated."_ Paola fluffed her hair and stretched her back, eyes still on Altair, fingers 'discreetly' pulling on her tunic so that the slits rode high on her sides, exposing supple hidden flesh of her inner thighs, and a bit of dark pubic hair.

And Leo froze where he stood. _"He wouldn't… Not after what happened. He promised."_

"Who is this man?" Altair turned away from her and focused on the blonde. "What happened?"

Leonardo sighed and dropped all his notebooks onto his work table, face becoming dark and troubled; "He is the son of my last master… An evil, despicable little boy who delights in causing others suffering and likes to play with you before he breaks your spirit… He's a manipulative little shit, and I do not like him one single bit!"

"And that is saying something, because Leo likes everybody." A young woman in an olive drab t-shirt and linen pants shuffled out of the darkened room, scratching her short dark hair. "His heart is too big and his head too empty."

Leo sighed, eyes rolling up to the whites and he spoke in a brotherly tone; "Yes, thank you Rosa… Good morning to you too."

Altair was surprised by her accent. European and plain in appearance, save the glint in her eyes. There was nothing ordinary about that sparkle.

"How many people live here?" Altair whispered almost to himself.

"Usually just the three of us, Rosa, Paola, and myself… Ezio comes every so often, though usually all he does is sleep and eat and drop my cups." Leo said smiling brightly again like a cherub.

Rosa muttered something under her breath in Italian and shook her head.

"This was Rosa's Aunt's home… When she passed two years ago she left it to her… Ezio was able to convince her Aunt to let me stay here so I would be off the streets and a year ago I came across Paola here, and we had an extra room—"

Rosa scoffed loudly; "I came back from work and Paola had set up shop in there… I've since been unable to get rid of her."

Paola made a sneering, mocking face behind the young woman's back and crossed her arms over her ample bosom. _"My English is not so bad that I cannot understand you…" _She called in a rather unflattering snarl. _"And you seem plenty happy to let me stay when I offer to pay the bills!"_

_"I don't mind you staying when you help out. In fact, I encourage it, but it is when you disappear for a month on vacation with one of your 'boyfriends' and don't leave word on where you've gone that I worry… I hold Ezio to the same standards… Though he's even less likely to listen than you are."_

Altair fumbled glanced around and asked Leo for a piece of paper and a pen then began scribbling notes on everything they'd said. "So you saw him last week?"

Rosa grunted around the lip of a coffee cup her eyes ever watchful and somehow menacing as she watched him. "If you're going to go looking for him, I can take you… I drive a taxi."

"Among other things…" Leo narrowed his eyes and glanced off into the corner.

She smiled prettily but her eyes glowed with barely controlled rage. "And since Leo has been there before, and I haven't, he can be tour guide."

"I've only seen the cities at night, so I won't be much help." He began paging through his notebooks and shook his head as if ending the conversation.

"Then we'll go at night. Problem solved."

Paola cleared her throat daintily and looked pointedly at Rosa; _"I can ask my girls and boys to keep a lookout for him here, in __Fez__ and the surrounding areas and call you if we find him… I can also ask my sister to watch."_

_"Yes, thank you!"_ Leo looked like he might have wanted to hug her if he hadn't been so engrossed in whatever he was scribbling backward into his notebook. "Paola's sister is a nurse. If he shows up in the hospital she'll know."

Altair nodded and rubbed his face with both hands.

His headache wasn't abating, and if anything it seemed to be getting worse. He glanced at his watch noting the time, then flinched when the monster of a cat leapt up onto his lap, planted both large paws on his chest and looked him square in the eye with big green orbs.

Altair didn't particularly like cats. Kittens he could handle, and he supposed on that note, that a normal sized cat wouldn't be so bad, but this-this THING could hardly be considered a cat.

Leo thankfully pulled it off of him, grunting when the cat went boneless in his arms and just hung there like a ragdoll, tail swishing back and forth. "I am sorry about that… She usually doesn't climb all over anyone but myself and Ezio. An excellent judge of character she has!" He deposited the cat on the floor and made 'shoo' sounds at her, swinging his arms, but she merely looked up at him as if he were an idiot.

Leo finally got disgusted and threw his arms into the air; "Fine, I'm done with you!" And he stomped off like a child into the kitchen after Rosa, frightening the little dog who forced its girth under a couch and laid there with its back legs poking out.

_"You'll have to forgive Leo, dearest… He has a bit of a manic personality. Happy one moment, raging the next." _Paola had sauntered over and politely perched herself on the edge of the table in front of Altair, her bare foot rubbing up the inside of his calf. _"Ezio is like a younger brother to him."_

Altair nodded, hand still on his face, pressing rigid fingertips into his temples, trying to massage away the ache.

_"Oh, poor thing, let me help you."_ And suddenly the fingers of Paola's left hand were tangled in his hair, pulling upward slightly.

At first he opened his mouth to protest but the words died in his throat when the pain started melting away the longer he sat there and let her maintain the constant pressure.

In the background he could hear Rosa and Leo arguing over something in the kitchen, but couldn't quite follow the muffled shouts.

And then there was something cold and thin pressed to his neck.

Slowly, heart thudding in his throat, Altair opened his eyes and looked up at the woman sitting on the table, then down at what she had against his adam's apple.

At first it looked like a letter opener. One of those novelty things shaped like a little sword, but the closer he looked at it the more he realized, it wasn't a cheap imitation. This woman had a knife to his neck and fingers tangled in his hair. And he had his hands in his lap like an idiot.

Her face was calm, eyes dark, but there was a purpose in her gaze. An intensity that promised instead of threatened.

"Ezio and Leo are like sons to me, do you understand that? You are not the first man to come looking for Ezio, and you will not be the last." Her English was impeccable. She shifted, lifting her feet to rest on either side of his hips, exposing the soft supple inner portions of her thighs. "Leo is very impressionable, he will easily believe what he is told without question. As misguided as he sometimes can be, he is a good person. He sees the good in people when sometimes there is none… I would hate to kill you in front of him, as it would break his heart, but I won't have you taking Ezio away from him. They have both been through too much together."

Altair swallowed thickly.

"Now. I want to know why you are really here, who sent you, and why you have that mark on your face." She applied a little more pressure with the blade and he felt the impossibly sharp edge pierce skin like a knife in butter.

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	10. Chapter 10

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**Chapter 10; Affirmation  
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Rosa walked purposefully back into the room, her eyebrows drawn down severely, hands loose and ready at her sides as if preparing to pounce.

Leo was in the kitchen still, he could hear the young man snuffling in a teary voice. The dog barking in distress from under the couch, wiggling free and going to his master.

"Shhhh, it's alright, Leo." Paola cooed under her breath. "We'll find out his intentions soon enough." She smiled down at Altair sweetly; "Let's hope, for all our sakes, you were telling the truth, yes?"

Altair only blinked at her in shock. This could not be happening.

"Speak quickly, if we have to get rid of your body I'd rather do it by nightfall, lest you start to stink… Corpse doesn't go well with the ambiance, you see…" Rosa flicked her fingers at the room in general. "And Leo gets very nervous at the sight of blood… Though he has always wanted to study the internal human anatomy… Perhaps you will volunteer yourself when we are done!"

For half a second he entertained the idea of shoving Paola away and running. But then there was that sixth sense of his again. Like a taste in the back of his throat, or a strange blur if he squinted enough.

_Blue… Dammit…_

These women were good people, they were just trying to protect their friends.

"My ID is in my back pocket… and the box there." He glanced down at the front of his jacket. "I bought that from a merchant in the square, there are eight throwing knives in it… I've also got a switchblade in my left slee—"

The pressure of the knife on his neck increased and he hissed, eyes closing tightly and he lifted his hands up, fingers splayed in a non threatening way as Rosa circled him, took the box of knives and the blade from his sleeve. Then practically groped his ass pulling his wallet free.

Paola shifted, one foot lifting to press her sharp little heel right into his crotch.

He had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out. What was it with people and trying to smash off parts of his anatomy?

Rosa flipped his wallet around and showed Paola his ID then scoffed and shook her head.

"Ibn-La'Ahad? Are you serious? What kind of name is that?"

Paola applied more pressure; "It would be wise to answer truthfully, friend."

His voice came out high pitched, sweat beading on his forehead; "I was n-named after my g-great-great grandfather OK! It's—_AH!"_

Paola smiled as she ground her foot in harder; "I used to be a ballet dancer you know… I have very strong ankles."

"S-so I've n-noticed…" His mouth was becoming very dry and his stomach was starting to boil unpleasantly, he felt like he was going to faint.

"Are you going to tell us why you've come? A PI wouldn't travel across the world without a warrant. Who are you working for?"

Altair would later swear he could feel Paola's toenails on his tailbone she ground her foot down so hard, but he managed to speak, even if it was in an effeminately shrill voice as he was trying not to throw up; "His father! FUCK! If you don't believe me his number is in my phone!"

And suddenly Paola was gone and Altair was sliding forward into the floor curled into a ball of agony hands clamped over the front of his pants. He'd be lucky if he was able to piss without screaming after this.

Altair decided then and there that he hated women… Hadiya was OK, but these two women… Dear, lord he hated them.

Suddenly there was his phone on the floor in front of his face, blinking the 'speaker' icon in blue. Somehow, he didn't know how, he managed to growl; "I'm ROAMING you stupid bitch, do you know how expensive—"

"Shut up or I'll turn you into a woman." Paola propped her foot on his hip triumphantly and started cleaning under her long nails with her dagger.

The phone rang twice more before there was an answer. A rather confused sounding male voice. "Hello?"

Rosa crouched beside him speaking quickly, snapping his knife open and closed compulsively.

"Hello, who am I speaking to?"

"This is Federico Auditore… Who is this?"

"My name is Rosa, is Mr. Auditore near by."

"He's in a meeting right now, c-can I take a message?"

And Altair just said it. Quickly, loudly, his voice surprisingly steady considering how much pain he was in. "Federico, get your dad NOW."

It was quiet for a few seconds and then, "Altair? Is that you?"

His head thumped to the floor; "Yes, now go get your dad. Tell him it's an emergency."

"What kind of emergency… I'm really not supposed to bother him. He's in a MEETING… With my _mother."_

Altair cursed loudly and bitterly. "Fine… J-just talk to Rosa then."

"What's going on? You sound like you're about to be sick… Are you alright?"

"Uh-huh."

"Where are you? Father sent me over to deliver your payment yesterday and Desmond said you weren't there and he didn't know when you were coming back."

"I… I'm in Morocco."

"Why are you in _Morocco__?"_

Altair wanted to laugh at the irony of it; "I'm on vacation…"

"You sound miserable."

"I am… About when should your dad's MEETING be over with? I'm kind of on a deadline here."

"Uh—Actually he only just went in there a few minutes ago… Ma'ma has been having a rough week, she had to go to her therapist this morning, and she's always a bit clingy afterward…"

Leo had crept back into the room and was crouched about six feet outside the kitchen door hugging his knees, eyes locked on the phone and wide like dinner plates tears streaming down each cheek. His dog was behind him, head lowered, and the lion of a cat was pacing back and forth in front of him protectively.

It was kind of heartbreaking to look at.

"Why is that?" Altair swallowed, relaxing somewhat from his coiled position as the pain began to fade.

Federico sighed heavily and a chair squeaked as he sat down. "Ezio's twenty-first birthday is tomorrow… _Would have been_ tomorrow—"

And Rosa poked the phone with a rigid finger, ending the call. She continued to crouch there for a few more seconds, bowed over her knees, then with a sigh nudged Altair's phone back to him and stood, walking slowly away.

"Let him up, Paola…"

And she shut herself in her bedroom without another word.

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	11. Chapter 11

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**Chapter 11; Hunting **

After Paola let him up, Altair took a few minutes in their bathroom to vomit and assess the bruising to his genitals. He hadn't been in this much pain in a long while… Not since his and Malik's last fight.

He and Malik didn't fight often, but sometimes something happened, something that Hadiya would say was petty and scold them both over like small children, and Malik would take a shot at Altair, his face all crinkled up, dark eyes blazing, and they'd wind up in the floor wrestling, Malik's arm around his neck, choking him, legs twisted around his waist from behind, holding him still and cutting off his air supply while Altair stomped and flailed and tried to twist and roll them over, scratching and pulling at Malik's hair, face, clothes, just about anything he could reach.

Last time it had happened was two years ago, Altair had said something, he didn't even remember what it was, and Malik had head butted him in the gut, all that military training coming back in an instant, and the next thing he knew, after a flurry of fists, kicks and deflecting, Malik had jabbed him in the kidney with his sharp elbow and he was down for the count.

And having his privates smashed between the seat of a hard wooden chair, his pelvic bone and a crazy woman's foot had robbed him of any kind of rationality and left him lying in the fetal position on Leo's bathroom floor left arm curled around his head crying into his elbow.

There was a reason the saying 'above the belt' existed after all. A shot to the stones was a low blow in more than just a geographical sense. Only bullies and jerks deserved a kick to the nuts, and Altair was positive he hadn't been either of those things to Leo, Rosa or Paola.

Leo approached him after he managed to pick himself up and limp pathetically out of the bathroom, the young man's eyes wary like a frightened animal, but clearer too in some way. More sad and empty.

"Rosa said she'll pick you up tomorrow…" He licked his lips nervously. "I-I'll show you where he and I used to walk, and w-where our old bosses can be found…"

Altair nodded and limped slowly around the room gathering his things, tucking his blade back into his sleeve and heading toward the door. Feeling violated and in need of a good shower.

Maybe two…

Leo watched him leave with an expression of deep regret on his face, and Altair had to stop twice on the way back to the hotel to throw up because walking was now his greatest enemy and every step sent a sharp stab of pain from his crotch to his chest.

As soon as he was back in his room almost an hour later he locked the door, tugged the curtains closed to block out the sun and ran a bath, soaking for a good hour and a half with his legs thrown over the sides of the tub like a child in a sink whispering thanks that Malik sliped a few high end pain pills into his bags. He might actually be able to sleep and let his balls come out from behind his liver where he was almost certain they were hiding, shivering like scared rabbits.

His lips and fingers were numb by the time he crawled out of the tub and flopped naked and wet on the bed, having just enough energy to pull his laptop out of his bag and open it on the mattress by his head, opening the media player and switching on something to soothe him while he slept.

High end pain pills tended to give him nightmares now and it seemed there was very little other than outside stimuli, i.e. music, that could stave them off.

He dozed for a few minutes and woke to a rather incessant chirping noise from his instant messenger.

Desmond it seemed was back from class, and if the sheer number of curse words in his messages were any indication, he was utterly and completely pissed.

'My Lit Partner is a jackass' 'The bastard lied to me about the fucking midterm' 'If I get my PI license can I shoot him in the ass and get away with it?' 'FUCK' 'Altair are you even fucking there?'

Altair was in no mood to twist his sore body and type everything he wanted to say, so he assaulted the 'voice/video chat' button until the computer sent up a warning saying;

'Repeated clicking can cause errors.'

He clicked it twice more for spite and started rubbing his forehead with both hands.

_"Jesus!_ Altair, p-put on some clothes, or cover your camera or _something!_ I mean what the hell man!"

He sighed miserably and pulled the sheets up, growling in his head that it was a stupid mistake not to have put on underwear before he pulled out his computer, "I got beat up by a dominatrix and a taxi driver a little while ago, cut me some slack."

The little image of Desmond in the corner of the screen flinched and his eyes widened. "Wow… Should I be happy for you or cringing."

Altair winced when he shifted against the bed; "Definitely cringing… The taxi driver was going to steal my money and the Dominatrix was going to slit my throat, see?" He motioned to the cut on his neck that was still oozing sluggishly, leaving a thin ribbon of gore across his throat. He dabbed at it, rubbing the liquid between his fingers until it clotted and clumped like mud.

"Yeah…" Desmond's face wrinkled up. "'Do not want!' gotcha."

The brightness of the computer screen in the darkness of the room hurt his eyes and he cupped his hand over his face.

"So, besides being beaten up, how was day one?"

He was silent for a heartbeat then let his hand fall back to the mattress; "It's him…"

For half a breath Desmond was completely immobile, almost as if his computer had frozen, then his hand came up, scrubbing the scar on his mouth and he rocked back in his seat staring unblinkingly at his computer screen.

Altair thought maybe the kid hadn't heard him, but then noticed the wetness in Desmond's eyes and the way his hand was trembling.

Altair let him have his moment while he slid out of bed and went to the mini fridge for a bottle of water and scrounged around in his luggage for a pair of underwear, whimpering as he pulled them on and adjusted himself.

Yep, definitely hated women…

He dropped back onto the bed and chugged half of the bottle then rolled under the blankets so he didn't damage Desmond's fragile sensibilities by laying there in his underwear.

Desmond wiped his face on his sleeve and cleared his throat, pasting a hollow smile on his face; "I'll call Walker and get in touch with the American consulate…"

"Hold off on that. I don't have him with me, his friends said he'd run off, we're going to look for him tomorrow." That and he knew the consulate would call the FBI and the FBI would call the Auditores and Altair didn't want that to happen just to have to call them and say that they'd found out Ezio had killed himself.

What kind of heartbreak would that be? Nine years thinking you'd never see your kid again, to suddenly hear he's alive, only to hear a few days later that no, he wasn't alive, he'd killed himself just minutes before he could be rescued.

"Yeah, OK…" Desmond rubbed his hands on his pant legs and let out a whooshing breath. "So, uh, when you get him, tell him I said 'hi', yeah?"

Altair nodded and lifted his hand, waving it slowly between his face and the computer screen, staring transfixed at the blurred blue trails his fingers left in the air, like smoke.

Desmond chuckled and waved back timidly, his cheeks pink, "Altair why the hell are you waving at me? I can see you just fine—" He paused and squinted at the screen, noticing the dazed look on the older man's face. "… Altair, are you ok?"

"Yeah…" he rubbed his eyes again; "The pills make it worse."

"Make what worse?"

"My eyes… see things."

"Are you stoned?"

"No."

"You're a terrible liar…"

"Only when I'm stoned."

"I should yell at you." Desmond scowled severely at his camera. Dark brows scrunched over his eyes, nose wrinkled up. To Altair he looked oddly like a disgruntled puppy, but he chose to say nothing about that.

"Why."

"You yelled at me when I got drunk at Rebecca's birthday party."

"I yelled at you because you're underage. You can get drunk on your twenty-first birthday. I'll even buy you a goddamned Fruity Tutu… Whatever the hell that thing is." He let his hand fall back to the bed.

"It's called a Funky Monkey… Fruity Tutu— God it's obvious you've never been to a bar in your life."

Altair made a spluttering noise like a fart between his lips and flapped a hand at the camera, dismissing the conversation.

"I'm holding you to it I hope you know! I'll drag you to the bar by your nose hair if I have to!"

"You can try."

Desmond scowled again and shook his head then rocked back in his seat again and started absently playing with the zipper on his hoodie. "Fredrico came over to drop off your monthly check." He plucked up the envelope and shook it at the camera. "You want me to deposit it for you?"

Altair nodded. "Yeah, thanks…" Then he chuckled; "Say his name again."

Desmond blinked; "What? Fredrico?"

Altair snorted and shook his head.

"What? What's so funny?"

"Nothin' nothin'…"

"You know, you're almost as bad as my stupid Lit Partner."

"So I'm as bad as 'That Ginger British Prick'?"

"Yeah, you're being a prick right now."

Altair rolled his head on the pillow, his expression lacking any specific emotion, his mind a hundred miles away. "What am I gonna do, Des…"

Desmond blinked again, and Altair pictured him for some reason like one of those politicians you saw on TV with the nervous tic. Frantic blinking when the pressure was on. It also made him think that maybe Desmond was a cyborg, and blinking was like a fan in a computer, helping cool down his core processors.

It would have been funny if his chest hadn't felt so tight.

"What are you going to do about what? Being a prick? I don't think there's a cure for that, besides a punch to the face."

"No…"

And Desmond's expression pinched, his eyebrows drawing inward, nose crinkling. "You do what you have to do."

Altair thought on this for a few moments, his throat tightening, and he picked distractedly at a wrinkle on the sheets, focusing intently on it so he didn't have to see the younger man's face on his computer screen when he spoke.

"Rodrigo was a sex trafficker…" He nibbled his lower lip and forced himself to continue, fingers tightening on the sheet. "This Friend… Leo, he—they were sold… I—This kid, Des. Leo looked fine at first but he just…I could see it in his eyes. I saw kids like that before, all dead inside and looking up at you like they can see through you. Like they can tell exactly what your thinking, even if you don't know you're thinking it… How could—" he choked but pushed on anyway, even as the words faded out into a strained whisper; "How could I have let this happen to him."

"Did you tell that sicko to kidnap us?"

Altair flinched at the harsh tone in the younger man's voice. He'd never heard Desmond use it before. That deep, serious, knowing almost accusatory sound.

"No—"

"Did you tell him to beat us up? Did you tell him to stab you and leave you to bleed to death?"

"No, but—"

"Don't 'but' me! You had no more control over that situation than I did!" His eyes were dark on the screen, his face flushed with anger. "Do you know how many times I asked myself 'Why didn't you go after that bastard and save him? Why didn't you try harder? Why didn't you save your best friend—Your ONLY friend! Why did you leave him!' Or how many times I dreamed about him floating into my room like a fucking ghost and screaming at me, asking me why I left him to die? Why I killed him? Do you know how hard it was for me to go to school after that and see Freddy or Claudia, and see how sad they were. See how resigned they were that their brother wasn't coming back and I was there to be a constant reminder of it? Do you know how hard it was for me to accept how nice they were, how kind Mr. and Mrs. Auditore were to me despite the fact Ezio hadn't come back?" His hands lifted, curled like claws and shaking in rage. "A week after you saved me my dad forgot me at the grocery store! It took him FIVE HOURS to figure out he'd left me! And you know what he did? He told me 'Don't run off like that, Buddy!'" His fists came down on the table with a crash, and his breath sobbed out of his chest.

Altair was silent, watching it all with his lips parted in shock. He'd never known, Desmond had kept his mouth shut, never let any of this hidden emotion show through the eager, cheerful mask he kept so well.

"You didn't cause this. Stop trying to make out like you did, I'm sick of it. It happened, and it's terrible, but letting guilt eat you alive isn't going to help him!" Desmond scratched angrily at his eyes and leaned close to the camera, so close he went out of focus. Just two large dark, furious eyes. "You found him, Altair. After nine years of looking in empty corners, and two years of Mr. Auditore paying you to hope, you've fucking found him…" He scrubbed his face with his sleeve and swallowed thickly, his eyes looking bloodshot and huge. "Now you have to suck it up, stop acting like a lunatic blaming yourself for something you couldn't control, and bring him _back!"_

Desmond ended the call suddenly, leaving Altair staring at the frozen image of his face. Angry and hurt and full of emotions he remembered seeing on a smaller, younger version of Desmond Miles. The dull eyed version he remembered peeking up at him over the foot of his hospital bed. Like the hollow shell of a boy he had been for almost two years after the incident, until he'd started showing up on Altair's doorstep instead of going home after school, started sleeping on Altair's couch and helping Malik and Hadiya with their young daughter and new baby.

Altair closed his computer and pulled a pillow over his head. Cursing himself in his head because it had been right there in front of him for years. Desmond was as fraught with guilt as he was. Blaming himself just as much if not more than Altair blamed himself for Ezio not being there.

He wasn't sure how long he stayed in bed, tossing and turning and pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes to hold back the sting of tears. Alternately curling into a ball and sobbing quietly.

He didn't know when he consciously made the decision, didn't really know he had consciously made a decision, he just realized he was moving, climbing to his feet and shuffling toward the bathroom, thinking;_ I'm doing this… I'm actually doing this._

And he picked up his cell phone from amid the pile of clothing he'd discarded and leaned his hip against the sink, his back bowed and pale in the mirror behind him.

The phone rang twice before a little voice answered, proud through a tiny chest. "Al-Sayf Printing, this is Gadil, how may I help you!"

Altair always envisioned the kid thumping his chest and scowling in a regal way when he saw, or heard him answer Malik's phone. He usually thought it was funny, but couldn't bring himself to even grin inwardly this time, he just lowered his head, scuffed his foot against the bathroom tile and shoved his free hand through his hair.

"Gadil can I talk to your dad, please? It's Altair."

The boy's voice perked up; "Sure! Let me go get him!" His feet thumped against the floor as he jogged through the shop, Altair could hear printing machines whirring and a radio playing the Weather Channel, stating that it would be raining in the Chicagoland area for the next few days, and you should remember your umbrella.

Gadil paused to ask Saree where their father was and the girl spoke in an indulgent, but irritated voice; "He's in the office."

The boy was off again with a quick thank you thrown over his shoulder at his older sister.

He knocked on the office door, Altair could hear his little knuckles pecking on the wood, then the boy was whispering; "Dad, Uncle Altair's on the phone."

Malik thanked him in a hushed voice and took the phone, the door shutting quietly. "You're paying the bill on this call I hope you know."

"Yeah."

Malik sighed weightily; "What's wrong?"

"Tell me again."

"What?" Malik's chair groaned as he sat down.

"Tell me again that I'm not a super hero."

"Why? What's happened?"

Altair wrapped his arm around himself and shifted his hip against the sink. "I found him."

Malik was quiet for a solid five seconds. "And?"

"And he's been living on the streets—That fucker Rodrigo was a sex trafficker and now—"

"And you're blaming yourself for it."

He rubbed his nose on his wrist, then wiped his wrist on his shorts. "Desmond gave me an earful a little while ago… Said I was acting like a lunatic blaming myself for something I had no control over."

"Well, you are… Acting like a lunatic I mean."

Altair choked on a laugh. A strangled hapless sound, not because he found anything particularly funny about his current situation, but because Malik had spoken in such a sincere and blameless tone he wondered why the other man hadn't gotten fed up waiting for him to come to this conclusion and beat the information into him.

"Altair…" He sighed and the chair creaked again when he moved. "Do you remember what Doctor Helms said… When we came back." Malik's voice was low, hushed, like he was sharing a secret. "Doctor Helms said that it wasn't unusual for those who survived a—a trauma like that, like _this_—to blame themselves for those who didn't… He also said that it was normal, but untrue." He paused and cleared his throat. "Altair, you didn't cause this. Desmond didn't cause this. Rodrigo was the one who did it, not you. And blaming yourself for it isn't going to help anybody… You almost died. You couldn't have stopped it, and telling yourself otherwise is-is just going to end up driving you crazy."

Altair rubbed his nose again and shuffled out of the bathroom, leaning against the wall by the window, staring out the crack in the curtain at the city.

"You have to stop and tell yourself that you survived. You _survived_… And HE is going to need that same affirmation. He will blame himself for his injuries. He'll think that he deserved it all because he wasn't fast enough, or brave enough…" Malik's voice hitched.

For a long few moments they were both silent, hearing the other breathe, and the silence spoke more than words probably ever could about not only Altair's current predicament, but Malik's as well.

And that fact resonated in Altair's mind, giving a familiar undertone to what he was now feeling.

The kidnapping had been out of their control. They hadn't known it would happen, hadn't known what Rodrigo had been planning, so how could they be at fault?

The guilt was a vicious cycle of 'what-ifs' and 'why didn't I's'. It was baseless. They hadn't done anything to deserve it happening, hadn't been able to control it any more than they were able to control the weather. But the feeling of guilt was still there, and wouldn't be so easily overcome.

"It's going to take a lot longer than a single phone call to work through it, Altair… But you've got business to deal with. You have to get that boy home to his family… Just focus on that for now and don't worry about anything else. Just get him to safety and back into his parents' arms."

Altair nodded and opened his mouth to speak but Malik beat him to it. "I have to go now… Don't do anything stupid."

Altair nodded even though the motion was wasted because Malik couldn't see it.

"I know you're not the religious type… But…" The other man sighed deeply; "Try to find some kind of peace before you dive into it. Keep yourself together long enough to get him someplace safe and when you come back y-you can lock yourself in your room for however long you need and I won't let Desmond or Saree bother you, alright? I know it's going to be difficult, trust me. But if you want to bring him home it has to be done…"

He nodded again, "Yeah…"

"Right, well… Try not to get yourself killed."

"Alright."

"Good…"

"Malik?"

"What now?"

His mouth felt dry but he forced the words out anyway. "Why did you forgive me?"

Malik was quiet for a five count and with a sigh he spoke; "I…You were this—this pathetic hateful creature in my mind… and it was easy to shove all of my hate and anger onto you. You were disgraced by your family, living in a cardboard box behind a dumpster, sick and so deep in depression and sorrow you were killing yourself… Part of me wanted you to die because I thought I would be free then… That I'd be able to move on."

The words hurt and Altair turned from the window, staring at nothing in the middle of the darkened room his eyes burning.

"I was so— Angry… But then, slowly I started to realize the anger I felt toward you was less than the anger I felt toward myself…" He took a deep breath and let it out in a whoosh. "We were both at fault. You for being an idiot, and me for not ordering you back into formation— I had seniority, and instead of using it, I followed you…" He swallowed; "It took me a long while to come to terms with that. I only kept hating you because I couldn't forgive myself and you were a… convenient outlet—" His voice became strained, barely audible and he made a loud snuffing noise before he could continue. "And I-I realized that if you died I'd be alone, and I couldn't handle that. It made me sick to think my anger had caused me to do that, to want and wish a person to die… I-it scared me."

The silence rang like church bells between them.

"I forgave you because we both changed— Because, I was tired of feeling trapped by my own hatred."

Altair rubbed his face dry, and his gaze lowered to his feet, toes curled into the carpet, looking vulnerable and naked where they held him up. "Purely selfish reasons then…"

Malik chuckled under his breath. "Yeah."

He took a deep breath, tilting his face upward to stare at the ceiling, feeling his sinuses starting to drain, allowing proper breath to be drawn once again. "Did it work?"

"Did what work?"

"Do you still hate me?"

"No I don't hate you… You're a bastard sometimes, but I don't hate you."

That was probably as close to a verbal hug as he was going to get, Altair supposed. And he rubbed his eyes dry, taking a few deep breaths.

"You took those pills didn't you… You always get emotional when you take Demerol."

"Is that what they were?"

Malik chuckled; "Good night, Altair… I expect to see an article in the Sun about this miraculous recovery of yours, in all its weepy-reunion glory."

Altair scoffed in a sound that spoke of his impending misery.

"I'll warn Hadiya so we'll have someone downstairs on your office phone when the calls start coming in."

"Yeah… Thanks. This is—uh—This is gonna be hell in paperwork."

"Make Desmond do it."

And Altair smiled genuinely for probably the first time in a week.

Assistants were good for something after all.

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_(A/N; Not much action this chapter, just a bunch of exposition. That's why there are two chapters going up. You all have been so kind with your reviews I wanted to give you a little treat.)_

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	12. Chapter 12

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**Chapter 12; Hallelujah**

There were people on the roof again. Laughing, singing and listening to loud music. Partying and acting as if they didn't have a care in the world save who was going to be their next lay.

People on the street were passing by happily, the lights from the highway were bright, but there were still stars visible over the mountains.

And Altair's hands were shaking.

He was sitting on the tiny little balcony of his hotel room with his knees drawn up, hands clasped at the back of his neck. He couldn't sleep. As much as he needed it, as much as his body screamed for it, his mind wouldn't still long enough for him to doze off.

Tilting his head back he glanced upward at the roof then rubbed the bandage on his neck from Paola's little… he wasn't sure what to call it, and closed his eyes.

If she hadn't seriously been ready to kill him he would have thought it was hot. He'd always had a thing for women who could pack a punch or do dirty, _dirty_ things to him in leather and diamonds.

Now though, that fantasy was ruined for the rest of his life.

"No more bondage for me…" He muttered under his breath, shaking his head back and forth in a strange figure eight motion because of his hands. "No sir…" He drew his lips into his mouth and chewed on them compulsively, tapping his feet and trying to think of anything, trying to exhaust himself so he could sleep, but nothing seemed to be working. His very skin crawled with it.

So there he was, wedged in the window staring outward over the city, up at the mountains and the stars. Feeling separate from the world and strange, as if he wasn't really real, like it was all a dream, and that thrum under his skin, that pulse he felt behind his eyes that screamed of ancient things, and those dreams he had on occasion that left him sitting up in bed clutching his heart, his left fist cocked back as if to punch someone who wasn't there.

He sighed and shuffled slowly, cupping himself through his shorts and scooping his camera off the dresser, pausing a few moments to turn it on and adjust the settings before returning to the window and focusing off into the distance, his mind slipping into the rhythm of the earth, replaying the past day's event in his mind, hoping to better understand them within this separation of mind from reality he'd found himself victim to.

He sank back into the feelings, the hum, the eerie sense of déjà vu that he'd had since before he could remember, letting the sage like mentality he seemed to adopt during such moments, and just let himself feel. Let all the fear, anger and guilt roll through him, through his chest, down his arms and out of his hands.

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Altair woke sometime after noon the next day, sprawled on his stomach, upside down across the hotel bed, tangled in the linen, the TV remote under his hip.

The news was playing quietly, red and green scrolling along the top and bottom with flowing yellow Arabic text. He stared at it for a few moments with bleary eyes, mouth open, just letting sensation creep back into his body.

His crotch ached and his throat felt dry and raw. His tongue having been exposed to the air since he'd finally fallen asleep felt like it had been dipped in wax. It took him a few moments of working it around in his mouth, counting his teeth, before he was able to draw enough moisture back into it to swallow.

The curtains glowed a strange orange color with the sunlight behind them, and he thought the whole room looked as if it had been bathed in blood because of it.

With a groan he rolled into a sitting position, feeling more mentally and emotionally exhausted than physically so. He rubbed both hands over his head, feeling the rasp of his hair on his palms and working out the little tangles that had accumulated in his sleep.

And then there was a knock at the door.

He felt like a child fascinated by a New Year's Eve noise maker, staring at it, and the shadows cast under its frame. It was strange realizing that there were other people in the world outside of this little hotel room that had hidden away the turmoil of the night and early morning.

It was even more physical proof that the world didn't slow or stop for anyone for any reason. It moved on as surely and swiftly as if nothing had happened at all.

It made a person feel terribly insignificant…

The knocking resumed; "Messer Altair? I-it is Leo and Paola, are you still there?"

In his head that little sassy finger-snapping-head-wobbling voice he equated with the half of himself that wanted to sink his teeth into the pert, round, well muscled ass of Sergeant Thorpe's HEAT packing partner, chimed out; 'Oh HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELL NO!'

But he was on his feet anyway, rubbing his face and the morning gunk from his eyes, pleased that he could walk with only a slight limp of tenderness from his privates. He yawned, mouth gaping open as he peeked out the spy hole, then opened the door, making sure to keep Leo between himself and Paola.

Leo's face flushed a bright fuchsia and he looked up at the ceiling, lips compressed.

Paola just smiled brightly, at him; "Good, you are still here. Seems like I owe you a few Dirhams, Leo… Now, please get dressed before you give poor Leo a heart attack with all your lovely bare skin."

He glanced down at himself and back up with a blank expression on his face. Out of the three of them he was surprised more by his own nonchalance at standing there in his boxerbriefs than by either of their reactions. He was at heart a rather private person. He could barely even stand letting doctors examine him, forget about perfect strangers. He pushed the door closed and slid the lock, eased himself carefully back into his jeans and pulled a t-shirt over his head. Then started hastily shoving things back into his luggage and slipped his computer into his backpack.

He stripped the bed of its linens and piled them in the corner of the room and hastily scrubbed his teeth in the bathroom before stowing all his toiletries in his bag and zipping it up.

Giving the room a final once-over he turned off the TV and left all the small bills and pocket change in his jeans on the dresser for the house keeper and wrote a quick 'thank you' in Arabic on the note card she had left.

When he exited the room Leo was sitting against the wall trying to fix a shoelace that had broken, yet again. Grumbling to himself in French, and Paola was leaning against the wall near him humming and inspecting her fingernails.

Altair paused and stared down at him for a minute surprised; "How many languages do you know?"

"Seven." He used his teeth to tighten the knot then forced the shoe back onto his foot. "Eight if you count Sign."

"How did you learn so many, I only remember some Spanish from High School."

"You speak Arabic."

"You can thank my mother and adoptive parents for that, they made sure I wasn't separated from my heritage."

Leo climbed to his feet and dusted himself off, pulling at the tail of his shirt, trying to make it cover his hips. "Well, I pick up on things very quickly."

Paola scoffed and flattened her skirt. "He learned to play piano from watching someone in a hotel lobby!"

He grunted in acknowledgement and rubbed his hands together. "Well, shall we go? Paola offered to buy you breakfast as an apology for her actions yesterday." He smiled a little too politely at Paola and Altair was willing to bet the woman hadn't actually volunteered such a thing, but he wasn't one to turn down free food. Especially traditional foods or even a string of doughnuts if it came down to it…

Being in different places made food taste different as well.

And if he was honest with himself, which his stomach was seeing as it growled petulantly like a rabid animal beneath his t-shirt, he hadn't had anything to eat since noon the day before except a couple Demerol and a bottle of water.

Paola and Leo browsed the small hotel gift shop while Altair checked out, Paola making eyes at the clerk while Leo started sniffing scented candles he found on a shelf, turning his head quickly after poking his nose into a cinnamon scented one and sneezing violently four times in a row.

After that he seemed disinclined to sniffing another and went to Paola's side, showing her various brightly wrapped packages of chewing gum or candies and smiling pleadingly as if to say; 'If you buy this for me I'll love you forever!'

Paola didn't even bat an eye at him, too engrossed in propositioning the clerk.

After a few minutes of smiling and wiggling emphatically Leo sighed defeated, and slunk from the gift shop to stand by the window and watch people walk by.

Altair watched him and once the clerk had handed his credit card back, he walked over and stood a few feet away from the blonde.

A few women in brightly colored clothing passed, heads tilted together whispering and chattering with wide smiles.

Altair felt they were somehow a million miles away beyond that thin pane of glass.

Leo drew a quiet breath beside him and let it hum out again; "Sometimes I wonder how the world is able to continue moving… How it is possible that people can be completely ignorant of what goes on under their noses, or how they can all be so happy when such evil has befallen us." The blonde spoke as if to his reflection, eyes locked on a young man sitting on a bench across the street smoking a cigarette. "And then I wonder, is this how my parents act? Is this their every day? Have they forgotten about me?" His hand moved, hovering mere millimeters above the glass as if afraid should he touch it, it might shatter and reveal a fiery landscape of hellish proportions.

Altair stared at him silently, mind whirring.

Leo's reflection was tense, but slowly, a smile curved his lips upward and he turned to Altair, his eyes all aglitter; "They remembered him…" He took a deep breath and slowly lifted a hand, fingers twitching almost imperceptibly, and gripped Altair's shoulder. "I think Ezio deserves to know his family remembers him. I think he deserves to hear their voices on his birthday… Don't you?"

"Are you really so confident that we'll find him in time?"

Leo looked visibly affronted; "Of course. If something had happened to him, I would know. He and I—He and I share a bond." He pulled his hand from Altair's shoulder and scratched at his opposite arm through his jacket. "What we've gone through together cemented that… If he were dead I would know."

Leo half expected him to say something. To say that it sounded crazy and unbelievable, but he didn't. He just took a deep breath and nodded, squaring his shoulders and turning to look over his shoulder where Paola and the clerk should have been.

Altair's brows scrunched; "Where…"

Leo flapped his hand dismissively; "She'll be back in a few minutes, that's what she does."

Sure enough, after only ten minutes or so of people watching, and watching Leo's fingers twitch and play scales in the air, or against his jutting hipbone, Paola returned, her cheeks pinked pleasantly.

Despite the fact Altair knew breakfast hadn't been her idea, she did pay for it. Standing in a triangle with him and Leo beside a food cart eating quickly, then buying a string of powdered doughnuts for Leo to keep him occupied as they made their way across the city.

Altair paused every so often, snapping photos or browsing a stall or small shop. Killing time until Rosa picked him up.

The sun was bright and white gold above them, blinding where it reflected off whitewashed buildings or windows, or shiny metallic things settled on dark cloths.

Altair flipped his hood up and pushed his sleeves to his elbows, feeling sticky and uncomfortable in the heat. Fat white clouds hovering on the horizon promised rain and Altair wondered if the humidity wasn't going to steam cook everybody like lobsters.

He felt ridiculous hefting his duffle bag and his backpack around. Felt like one of those tourists you saw on movies who carried around every single piece of clothing they'd brought with them because they'd been ignorant and hadn't bothered to check the weather that morning.

Paola disappeared twice, seeming to just blink out of existence only to reappear fifteen or twenty minutes later at Leo's elbow counting out a fistful of wrinkled money into a folded wallet she kept in a hidden pocket at her waist.

Altair found himself warily entranced by her. How she seemed to flow around obstacles, moving like smoke, sometimes just a blur of red and black in the crowd. Others blending in so perfectly, so seamlessly, she could be right beside him and completely invisible.

Leo, on the other hand was very energetic, practically skipping, twirling a lollipop between his lips, Altair had no idea where he'd gotten it. He would bounce up to one stall or another, zigzagging back and forth like an excited canary. Examining this or that, eyes wide and shining in the sun. He possessed a dazzling intellect, but seemed so genuinely enthralled by the simplest things. A large bird feather he found on the ground. A cat lounging in a tree, the crook in an old man's nose or the curve of a young child's cheek.

Five times Paola gripped Altair's shoulder to stop him and they had a few frantic moments of scanning the crowd until one of them spotted Leo, wherever he'd wandered off to.

He seemed to be attracted to brightly colored things. Most especially scarves, glassware, or hats.

Paola badgered him in Arabic, tugging his arm, trying to draw him away from whatever had captured his attention. And most usually he would say; 'Okay, just a moment.' And continue browsing as if uninterrupted. 'Hold on.' Was also a favorite.

It took Altair stepping in and reminding him; 'We have to get to Rabat…' or the hissed mention of Ezio's name in his ear to draw him away.

At nearly three that afternoon as they were nearing the small park where Rosa had said to meet, Altair feeling every bit of his twenty-eight years plus about six more.

He released a little happy gasping noise and darted quickly to the right into a small stall, fingers splayed and grabbing, petting through colorful scarves and clothing.

Altair glanced at the time display on his cell phone and leaned his back against the wall of the stall, resting his aching shoulders. He yawned, truly starting to feel the lack of sleep, and squinted at the dim interior of the small shop.

Paola was holding a dress up to herself, and oddly enough, Altair thought the deep blue color diminished her natural curves, but didn't say so. He couldn't even make himself see her as anything other than a two legged terror with a fantastic rack, and discretely cup his privates defensively. He made himself look away—And that was when Altair really noticed the stripe of red right in the part of Leo's hair.

It contrasted brilliantly with the blonde and sent a stab of worry through the bottom of his stomach.

Paola had tried many times since they'd left the hotel to convince him to pull his hair up, and to put the flannel he had tied around his thin hips back on but he'd plainly ignored her… Now Altair understood why the woman had been badgering the young man.

Leo may have been living here for a long time, but he was quite obviously of European descent, his skin was pale and freckled and his eyes a brilliant shade of blue… And now he had a nice sunburn to match it.

Leo's fingers had seized on a pair of hats. One of a citrus lime color, the other a violent orange that seemed to glow in the dim light. He was holding one in each hand and smiling sweetly, innocently, at the merchant, obviously trying to barter the price down to the small handful of Dirhams he'd won from Paola.

The merchant was obviously having none of it and was shaking his head back and forth quickly, bushy brows knotted over his dark eyes. _"NO!"_ he kept saying. _"I am not some ignorant street peddler!"_

And Leo's face was becoming more and more distressed, his lips curling downward at the edges.

A few words later, only a few of which Altair was able to catch over the hum of the street, the merchant snatched the hats away from Leo and flapped his hands impatiently.

Leo seemed to bristle visibly, swelling outward like an angry cat, hands curled into tense fists at his sides, face turning even more red under his sunburn. And with a growl, an almost enraged little sound, Leo stormed out of the stall, crossing his arms high on his chest, shoulders hunched up, head dropped forward like a vulture.

Altair watched him go, practically blinded once more by the glare of sunlight off the blonde's hair, and let out a sigh.

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Rosa drove a cab. An eighty-six Volvo to be exact. There wasn't an air conditioner, at least not one that functioned, and the only thing besides the gauges that worked was the radio. And that only tuned into one station. Moroccan Pop music.

She'd been driving for almost three years now, working alongside a man named Antonio who thought he was God's gift to women and went about with the first three buttons of his shirt undone and a tangle of religious medallions from at least nine different faiths on a thin chain around his neck.

She liked to complain about him, just because it annoyed the hell out of him.

Antonio's Taxi company was one of many in the city, and despite their 'humble' origins, they seemed to be some of the best at getting around traffic, and navigating the twisting side streets. There had been complaints from other small companies run into the ground by Antonio's success, that they used witchcraft or unholy means to gain such fame. That they frequently stole patrons from other companies.

Antonio would just smile…

Taxi driving, it seemed, was not his only business.

There was a small park, about halfway between her home and Altair's hotel, where she'd arranged a meeting place.

Paola and Leo were to go and collect him, wander around the city so, should anybody of 'unsavory' origin be lurking, or if their instinct to trust him had been false, it wouldn't be hard to separate the PI from them and make a clean get away.

Rosa and Paola were terribly paranoid people. Leo, bless him, was all too trusting most of the time.

And when Rosa pulled her cab to a stop and Leo bounded up and shoved his head through her open window at her, showing off his sunburn, and the hat Altair had bought him to protect his head, she wished that perhaps, she'd been able to scare the blonde enough to engrain even a shred more paranoia into him.

Altair looked exhausted. His eyes underlined heavily, his shoulders slumped under the weight of his luggage.

She just grinned at him with narrowed eyes as he opened the back door and shoved his belongings in, then dropped onto his back in the seat with an arm thrown over his face.

Leo practically pranced around the hood and climbed into the passenger side seat, propping his feet on the dash and picking at a tear in the knee of his jeans.

They chatted back and forth for a few moments in Italian while Rosa waved goodbye to Paola and maneuvered them onto the street.

Altair relaxed into the drone of it all. The muted roar of the traffic, the smooth roll of words on the two younger people's tongues.

He dozed for a while, turning onto his side, head pillowed on his duffle, and tugged his hood low over his face, remembering those uncomfortable cots he, Malik and Kadar had slept on during their tour in the middle east.

He woke a little over an hour later car sick and had to urge Rosa to pull over on the side of the road until his stomach had settled.

Leo produced a small sketch pad from nowhere, or so it seemed, and started sketching clouds and the mountains.

The sun beat down on Altair's shoulders and more than once he had to sit there with his head tilted back swallowing an overflow of saliva and breathing quickly as his body tried to reject his breakfast.

"You're probably just dehydrated." Rosa said where she was lounging with her feet on the dash, the radio playing an exotic soundtrack behind her. "We should be in Rabat by nightfall, so if you want to sleep it off I completely understand."

Altair tried to ignore her, but it was terribly difficult when he was trying to focus on keeping his stomach settled.

It took a while, but finally his insides felt calm enough to continue, and they pushed onward.

Somewhere between the time of dozing off in the back of the cab and two hours or so before sunset, Leo had managed to wheedle away at Altair and gotten the older man to take his camera out of his bag.

Altair bristled at first when the blonde had asked to see it. He'd not let anyone touch his camera since the customs agents at the airport had opened his bags and glanced at the contents, and even then he'd wanted to smack their dirty grubby fingers away from his lenses. He took meticulous care of his camera and all its accessories and didn't particularly like other people touching them. "I don't think—"

"Oh, come now, I won't break it!"

And somehow, Leo had ended up crawling over the seat and taking up Altair's camera… Then complaining about it.

"I don't like cameras. There's no skill involved with them. You can take a picture of a sunrise, and it can be beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous… But all you've done to capture it is point this thing at it and push a button! I like to actually FEEL it, you know? Painting a sunrise is much more fulfilling than snapping a picture."

And Altair had ended up hiding his camera away again and scowling out the window, his mood growing dark and broody.

They arrived in Rabat shortly after that. Just as the sun was setting the sky afire over the sea.

There were a few ships in the harbor, and the traffic was ugly, but the silence that seemed to descend over the car drew focus from everything but a strange, eerie sense of impending doom.

Even that weird hum under Altair's skin seemed oddly muted when he thought about it. Almost like nothing was real, and he was dreaming…

Or having a nightmare.

The city was modern, set behind ancient walls in some places. Like pieces from two different puzzles mashed together into one image, pell-mell across the landscape.

Leo mumbled directions to Rosa, and Altair found himself lost amid the buildings and streets, lost in the sensation that this was the end of the road. That time had run out.

And then the car stopped, and Leo's voice cut through the silence.

"This is it…"

Altair's stomach attempted another escape, but he was able to swallow it down again and he turned to stare up at the building they were parked in front of.

It wasn't too very large, but had obviously been remodeled on the outside. Pieces of trim removed, a balcony simplified by a short wall, on which there were a few wilted looking plants. And hanging above the traditionally large front doors was a stylized cross.

Altair thought the place looked oddly like a church.

"If Ezio is in Rabat, She would know."

"And if he's not?"

"Then we might never find him."

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	13. Chapter 13

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_(NOTE; Just because I haven't updated in a while, here are 3 new chapters.)_

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**Chapter 13; Found**

Leo walked quickly to the door, arms crossed, shoulders tense. He bounced his fist off the wood seven times in quick succession, waited for a ten count and did it again.

Altair didn't know why he thought it was so significant, it obviously wasn't, but his brain latched onto it anyway, filing it back for later use.

Leo was just raising his hand to knock again when the door cracked open and a face poked out.

It was a girl, late teens, early twenties wearing what appeared to be a nun's habit adorned with a little string of bells across her brow. She blinked owlishly at him for a moment, then her face split into a bright smile.

She and Leo chatted back and forth quickly in French for a few seconds, then the door opened and she ushered them in, calling out into the darkened confines of the building.

Leo motioned him forward and Altair felt his throat closing off, choking him, as he hitched his bags higher onto his shoulder and strode purposefully after him.

Rosa spoke to the girl, a few curt words, waved, then drove away.

Altair gaped after her in shock. Had he just been abandoned in a nunnery?

"She is going to go do her job and get some money, don't look so worried." Leo flapped a hand at him and dropped onto his behind in the floor, prying his shoes off. He stretched his toes, and after a moment of waggling them, climbed back to his feet and tucked his shoes under his arm. He looked pointedly at Altair, then glanced down to his feet.

It appeared that the subtlety was not wasted, and though Altair wasn't comfortable with the idea, toed off his own shoes.

"This is Madeline," Leo prompted, motioning to the girl in the habit.

Altair nodded to her, trying to keep his eyes averted. He didn't have much experience with nuns and wasn't sure how he should act. He decided detachment was best.

Madeline nodded her head at him, said something in quick French to Leo and shuffled away with a tinkling of bells and a flash of pale bare feet from under her skirt.

Altair took a moment to look around at the inside of the building and decided it reminded him of an old hotel, decorated in dark colors with plush chairs and a front desk closed off by locked shutters. It had the look of antiquity at its finest, right down to the candelabras burning silently on tables.

He wondered if this place even had electricity and decided it probably didn't if it was a nunnery.

Another girl, dressed similarly to Madeline appeared, escorting a man in a business suit toward the door, her arm hooked at the bend of his elbow, she was murmuring quietly to him in German and Altair's ears perked.

He may only have remembered some Spanish from high school, but Altair knew three languages other than English. Arabic was one, thanks to his mother and adoptive parents. Oddly enough, the second was Mandarin, he'd learned THAT from a foreign exchange student in high school and most of what he knew pertained to food or sex. And the third was German.

He hadn't consciously tried to learn German like he had Mandarin, he'd just caught phrases from the owner of a bakery he'd 'lived' behind during his time on the street. You could only lay there listening to the shouting for so long before you began to pick up on what they were saying.

The girl paused with the man beside the door as he slipped his feet back into his shoes, their voices hushed and low, almost intimate. She put one hand to either side of his face and drew him down, pressing her lips to his brow; _"God Bless you…"_

The man's hands wrapped around her and Altair felt himself choke, his brain sizzling when the man drew her into a deep kiss.

He didn't know much about nuns, but he was more that certain that nuns didn't kiss like that.

He was pretty sure they didn't moan like that either… Or reach down to grope men through their trousers—

Leo's sharp elbow caught him in the ribs and he turned quickly, lips pressed tightly together, eyes wide.

Madeline was back, and with her was a slender woman with dark hair tucked under a veil. She had an innocent look to her, and when Altair opened his mouth to introduce himself, she held up a hand and spoke in quiet, accented English.

"Leonardo has already told me why you have come. And I am sad to say he has not been here in three days."

Altair felt that little bit of hope he'd been able to cultivate since the night before evaporate as if it had never been. His hand lifted cupping his brow and his shoulders seemed to deflate.

All this work, all the worry and searching and he had nothing to show for it but more loose ends.

"He did not say he was leaving though. So there is a very good chance he will come back before he does."

"What if he's already gone, or tried to kill himself?"

"Him leaving without telling me is more likely, as for killing himself? I honestly do not think he would… He does keep a room here. You're welcome to see it if you think it may help."

Altair turned his eyes to Leo, asking if the blonde would go with him, feeling somehow anxious that he was being offered the chance to see something directly connected to the young man he had been looking for, afraid of what he may find, but Leo shook his head and made a little 'shoo' motion with his hands then started talking to the woman Madeline had brought back with her in hushed Italian.

Italian was just close enough to what Spanish he did know, that Altair understood the blonde had struck up a conversation about his new hat. And with a sigh Altair followed Madeline to the back of the room and up a set of rather rickety looking stairs that creaked ominously like a hangman's scaffold beneath his feet.

Ezio's room was on the top floor at the very back of the building. There were windows on three of the four walls hung with thick curtains. The room itself was rather uncharacteristic. Looking oddly like an attic or one of those drafty back closet rooms from horror movies where the family hid the horribly disfigured and insane twin. Cobwebs hung from the corners and the only mirror on the room looked to have been covered in black shoe polish.

The only thing that seemed to have any character at all was the bed. All the blankets were twisted and mounded into a formation that was roughly nest shaped, as if Ezio had merely flown away for a while and would return soon. And if Altair looked closely he noticed this nest, or ring pattern continued outward. There were a few bubblegum wrappers or candy wrappers scattered on the floor with a few little knickknacks, a small porcelean bird, a few chess pieces, a calculator, a little sketchbook with notes in it. A Bible that looked not to have been touched in ages, an Italian storybook, and a stack of old Arabic news papers, as well as a few Spanish ones.

All the mess seemed to create rings, or fortifications around the bed. Altair remembered when he'd been very young, still living in the tenement with his mother, ringing his bed with checkers in a compulsive red-black pattern to help ward off the eerie dreams of a tall man in a long black coat with a bushy beard and one milky-dead eye, creeping out of his closet and stealing him away to a castle far-far away where nobody would ever find him.

He'd grown out of it eventually, but as of late… As of late the same feelings had started to trickle back. Even more so when he saw the similar fortification patterns here.

Dust motes winked in the air between him and the window, and his eyes were drawn to web like constructions hanging from the bare rafters above Ezio's bed.

Shiny pieces of quartz, curled pieces of wire, origami stars and cranes, buttons, twigs, folded pieces of paper with miniscule writing on them. All of them tied together creating oddly shaped hanging sculptures accented here and there with feathers. He recognized the shape of some of the strange things. Circles with spider web like thread designs in the middle and hanging strings with long feathers on the ends. Dreamcatchers if he wasn't mistaken. Things you bought for small children and hung above their beds that were supposed to capture the bad dreams and keep them from falling onto your pillow. His adoptive mother made them… Although her designs were more artistic and pleasing to the eye than these twisted things

These looked like something a child would tie together for a school project they really didn't want to do.

"You can leave your bags here, they will not be bothered." She motioned to an empty it of floor near the bed. It's not often he takes callers, so we try not to fuss over his room much. Besides, I could come in and clean it, and five minutes later he'd have it messed again." Madeline was moving around the room like a hummingbird tucking things away, pushing open the curtains, coughing into her hand when dust clouds erupted from them.

Altair could understand Ezio's compulsions very well. He didn't like it when people messed with his things either. What he didn't like though, was the idea that Ezio was still taking 'callers'. The very notion made his stomach turn.

"Do you know of any place he might hide? Or someone he may go to if he felt he were in trouble?"

"Other than My Lady, or Leo, no, I'm sorry." She turned to him, hands clasped in front of her, and looked at him sadly. "He doesn't talk very much when he is here."

Altair nodded and continued tiptoeing around the room, cataloging everything in his head. "Has he seemed to act oddly of late? Mood swings, destructive behavior, anything out of the ordinary?"

Madeline thought about it a moment, and Altair noticed right away how she seemed to shrink in on herself, how she didn't quite meet his eyes when she spoke; "Nothing unusual."

He didn't believe it for a second.

"Anything you can tell me… Anything at all, could help."

She refused again, saying nothing was the matter, but Altair just looked at her through his lashes and she seemed to crumble, her voice shook, and her fingers curled together like she was praying.

"He came to my lady three nights ago, I could hear them from my room… My lady sounded very upset, she doesn't shout often, not without good reason, but she was shouting at him—" She paused cleared her throat and continued. "I have not told my Lady that I overheard them talking, so please, do not tell her I said this… He was trying to pay off his debt, but he… He was refused." She drew her lower lip into her mouth a moment; "He spoke of a man. An older man… He called him The Collector."

Altair's eyebrows scrunched down. "Collector?"

Madeline gave a quick nod and touched the right side of her mouth. "That mark is designated only for… For _merchandise_ procured by one man."

"Rodrigo… Leo said those with it were called 'Bunnies'."

"Yes, it is a very rare thing to… to own one hand chosen by him, especially now that he's gone. These people he took he studied very carefully, their habits, their way of life. People of high blood. He would take them young, the younger the higher the price… like rabbits sold for their fur. Ezio seemed afraid of this man. Spoke of him as if he were the devil. "

Altair felt his throat throb and anger burned in his veins. "Is there anywhere he may go, someplace special, like a hiding spot."

Madeline shook her head. "He likes high places. But I haven't seen him since he left that night."

"Have he and y-your lady argued before?"

"Yes, a few times, mostly about the men who come through here."

Altair's brow furrowed.

"Ezio has the tendency to… Well, he—" Madeline took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Sometimes, a man can become a bit violent… Before he came along we would usually just—"

Altair had the distinct impression he knew what Ezio did when these men became violent, especially because of what Leo had told him their former 'bosses' had done to them.

Madeline seemed flustered talking about it, but she managed to say it after a few failed attempts. "He's run quite a few men off… and broke one man's jaw when he made one of our sisters scream."

Altair felt himself smiling inside. He'd seen a few men in his line of work, most usually abusive husbands or boyfriends, who he'd wanted to beat the mortal crap out of, but had been unable to. Mostly because he didn't want to be thrown in jail and loose his PI license.

A quiet knock at the door stole his attention, and he turned, spying a blonde head and expectant blue eyes. "It's getting dark… He and I used to walk not far from here, I can show you."

Madeline lifted a small hand and clasped Altair's shoulder as he passed.

For a moment Altair felt light headed, but when he turned to look at her it disappeared, leaving a sour feeling in his stomach.

She had an almost fearful look in her eyes, and when she spoke she did so in a hushed voice. "You have the mark too… If someone is looking for him, they look only for that scar… Please be careful, and may God bless you."

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Three hours of walking later there was a distinct chill in the air, which seemed odd seeing how hot it had been that day, especially in Rosa's cab bouncing through the hills.

Leo had found a jacket somewhere, a mint-gray and brown thing that seemed to be just a bit too big for him. He walked with his arms crossed high on his chest, shoulders hunched.

Altair had the urge to reach out and take the young man's hand to ease his nerves.

They'd made a large circuit around the church, creating a waffle pattern down some side streets and alleyways through the cramped quarters of what Leo called 'Old Town'. They were close together, so close Altair's wrist bumped his hip occasionally while they walked.

He was tired, his legs were cramping, and everything was starting to look the same.

"We were only in Rabat for about two months before our Boss was arrested. We were pulled into a car about two blocks from here by one of his competitors, I think they were responsible for turning The Don in, and they took us to Fez. I didn't see Ezio for two weeks after we got there, and then one day I came back and he was lying in the floor like a little kitten. It looked like he'd been thrown into a blender. He'd was sold but hadn't—hadn't performed to the man's liking. So he brought him back, took back his money, and left Ezio in such a state that he couldn't work for a month." Leo lifted his head and looked down the street with a reserved expression on his face. "I'd stitched him up before, but never like that. He'd talk to me every other time, complain or something… But he didn't say a word that night and I knew… I knew they'd hurt him… They'd hurt him and he'd found pleasure in it."

Altair looked over at him but didn't say anything.

"It happens to all of us, one time or another. Sooner or later… And it hurts worse than when you feel nothing but pain, because you wonder if there's something wrong with you. If you're just as dark inside as they are. It breaks you in ways that never really heal… Sure, you learn to cope, you can ignore it, or overcome it, but it's always there, that doubt. Like a scar for all to see."

Altair knew the feeling. Knew the taste it left in your mouth. He may never have been physically brutalized, but mentally… He knew what it was like to have lived with abuse and learned to like it. "If you're fed garbage long enough, you start to want it… start to think maybe that bullshit tastes just like a nice steak."

Leo chuckled; "Bullshit always tastes like bullshit. You just learn to like bullshit."

"That's one way to put it… But would you be willing to admit you like the taste of bullshit?"

"You're funny." Leo nodded at him, amused. "Very funny."

"I'm too philosophical for my own good sometimes." He scratched a hand over his head. "Next time just kick me…"

"Why? It's nice to have a bit of intellectual stimulation sometimes. Paola and Rosa are far from indulgent when I'm in such a mood."

Altair felt himself grinning, felt his head shaking back and forth; "Malik calls me a Grand Master of all things irritating. If you want 'intellectually stimulating', talk to him. I just think too much…"

Leo nodded and suddenly his attention was stolen by something across the street. He pressed a hand to Altair's chest eyes wide.

There were four men standing just inside the mouth of an alleyway, identifiable only because of the varied shade of shadow surrounding them and the sour-sweet smell of smoke wafting out.

They spoke in quiet Arabic to one another, eyes flicking toward the two across the street in quick, furtive glances.

Leo leaned close and whispered; "I think we should go back…"

Altair nodded and they turned, walking at what to an outsider would have been a normal gait, but to Altair was a tense, slow run.

He could feel their eyes on them as they walked, and twice he glanced over his shoulder to assure himself they were not being followed. For a while it seemed they were, but the men backed off, and Leo's grip on his arm loosened from its vice like intensity.

It was only once they were safely back inside, Leo shuffling off to find something stiff to drink, that Altair realized what had happened.

They'd stumbled into gang territory, and if they'd stayed much longer, it was a good guess to say those four men would have had a big problem with that. And Altair knew he'd only had the blade in his sleeve to defend himself with, and only an idiot or a hero brought a knife to a gunfight, and Altair didn't believe in heroes.

He didn't even know where he was going until he had the door knob in his fist.

He pushed the door open, and his brain froze.

There was a light on…

There was a light on and somebody was standing at the foot of the bed.

Altair saw thin bruised hips in tight jeans, a t-shirt that was a little too short, and a baggy black hoodie hanging open like tent flaps across a thin chest. Bruises shaped like fingerprints on wrists, and a much too slim face set amid a tangle of long dark hair.

What set it off though was the fear. An animalistic kind of fearfulness in hollow hazel eyes. And teeth set into a fierce fence between scarred lips.

For a three count there was no motion. Neither of them even breathed.

And then, like a lightning strike, the figure at the end of the bed was in motion. Snatching up a frayed backpack off the bed.

Altair seemed to rely only on instinct and training, and lunged forward, grabbing with all nine fingers.

The figure shot backward, twisted and ran at the nearest window.

He saw only a flash of frightened eyes and a silhouette rushing pell-mell across the rooftops.

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	14. Chapter 14

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**Chapter 14; Those Who Remain**

Petruccio Auditore had a problem.

It wasn't something he could tell anyone about—Especially when that someone was his parents, Federico, or Claudia, who had decided the moment the doctors had announced his Leukemia was in remission, that she was his best friend.

At first it had been quite a lot of fun. Claudia was three years older than he was, she had her driver's license the summer his life truly began again, and all she'd wanted to do was tuck a knit hat over his unruly Chemo curly hair and take him to the movies, or the mall, or on road trips to concerts and museums with her three best friends, Miley, Anna, and Courtney.

And for any fifteen-year-old boy, even a fifteen-year-old boy who'd been poked and prodded and examined on a cellular level since he was four years old, hanging around with Women like that… Things were good for him. And he became the most popular boy in his class very quickly.

Then IT had happened. His parents had sat him and Claudia down one evening after returning from the movies and told them that their insurance company was pressuring them to declare Ezio dead.

_'He's been missing for seven years,' _Their Insurance agent had said._ 'It's time.'_

Petruccio remembered mother had been bedridden for two weeks after that and refused to leave their home.

For those first two weeks after his parents had reluctantly signed the papers, Petruccio saw exactly what his house looked like without that warm, cheerful hopefulness that had helped him through his illness and had supported him through all the treatments, the fear, the pain.

And he hadn't liked it one bit.

The house had felt cold, empty. And Claudia, who had always seemed more interested in boys and having fun, became a quiet, somber thing who struggled to function.

His father had spent most of his time sitting in his study nursing another glass of wine with his head in his hand and the lights out.

Mother had slept or sat in that shrine like bedroom at the end of the hall, tracing the letters on a Soccer jersey, and sobbing quietly at photographs.

Even Federico became a different person. He ate a lot, a nervous habit of his, and retreated into his books.

Petruccio had thought it couldn't get any worse… And then Uncle Mario had shown up, uncharacteristically silent. And when father had opened the door he'd seemed to disappear into the larger man's arms.

He'd never seen his father cry out of sadness before. There were tears of joy, yes. He'd cried when Federico had graduated High School and been accepted to college. He'd cried when Claudia had gone to prom, and when she'd graduated as well. And he'd cried when Petruccio himself had been released from the hospital and attended school for the first time.

But, he'd never seen his father quietly fold in on himself and just completely break down.

That was the day Petruccio Auditore realized life wasn't fair, and that without hope, you had nothing.

Over the three months following the memorial service, the youngest Auditore was hard at work.

He put away every cent he came across, hiding it in a sock in his drawer, he picked the aluminum cans out of the garbage at school and at home and his father's bank, and on Saturday mornings, would bundle himself against the early winter chill and walk with his burden six blocks to catch a bus that would take him to the recycling center.

By the end of three months he had almost three-hundred dollars, and nine bucks in pennies.

He vividly remembered the look on his father's face when he'd walked into his home office carrying all that money. "This is for the hour the PI finds him."

Giovanni stared at him with a flatly shocked expression.

"The doctors said I would die before I was twelve years old, and here I am. Just because they said Ezio is gone doesn't mean he is. I know he's not, and I'll prove it to you!" He'd pushed the money at his father. "It will only take one hour, one _minute_, to find him. You and mother didn't give up on me, and I won't let you give up on Ezio. He is an Auditore, and that means something!"

Fear jammed its way into the pit of his stomach just seconds after the words left his mouth.

He'd never been shouted at by his father before, but even just the six months he'd been attending school he'd heard horror stories from other kids in his class of he wrath incurred when one asserted themselves and their beliefs against their parents.

He flinched visibly when his father moved, grabbed him around the shoulders and drew him tightly into a hug.

Giovanni urged him to keep his money, to save it, but he'd insisted with a determination that brought happy tears back to his father's eyes. "I want to do this. I want to bring him home to us."

And therein lie the problem.

That had been two years ago.

Nine years of searching. Nine years of pasting up hope in his mind like wallpaper. Pretty, happy wallpaper like out of a kindergarten classroom.

It was so hard to keep hoping, to keep layering the hope over the despair. It was so hard to put on a happy face when each day that passed made it less and less likely that Ezio would be found.

Petruccio had opened his eyes that morning and discovered he couldn't do it. He fought and tossed and turned and pulled his hair and gritted his teeth, but he couldn't make himself believe it.

He didn't understand what was so different about this day as compared to yesterday. Yesterday when he'd told his friend Eli that he was going to stay home tomorrow with his family, he'd been a preverbal well of hope. Even more so after talking to Eli.

But today… Something was different today.

So he hid under his blankets and dialed Eli's phone number from his cell.

It rang six times before there was an answer, and it was not Eli.

"What!" It was a man in his twenties from the sound of his voice, shouted over blaring music in the background.

"Hi… Is Eli there?"

"Who?"

"Eli."

The man sighed in a very put upon way, then seemed to turn away from the phone; "ELIZABETH! You'd bloody well better be ready, or I promise I will leave you here! I will NOT be late again!"

"Then leave me, see if I care!" Came a muffled reply over the lyrics.

"You've got a boy on the phone, if you want to talk to him you'd best get yourself out of there this instant!"

The music stopped.

"Who is it, if it's that Madison character again tell him I've gone crazy and started calling you Helen."

The man pressed his mouth close to the phone again; "Who is this?"

"Petruccio. Eli and I go to school together."

"Oh." The sound came out like an irritated sneer, and there was a shout over the man's shoulder. "It's that boy you told me about last night… The one you kissed—"

A door slammed open and there was a thudding of feet. "SHOVE OVER! Get your fat arse out of the way!"

Petruccio hid his face in his hand, replaying yesterday's events at high speed as blood rushed to his cheeks.

It had started the year before. A 'New Kid' as his desk partner had said. Petruccio had looked up from his Trigonometry book, and seen a head of shaggy ginger hair set above the standard white polo shirt of the academy's male uniform, and tattered, worn looking checkerboard Vans at the ends of long khaki clad legs.

At lunch, being the friendly ambassador of the Junior class, he'd sidled up to what he'd expected to be an ordinary boy, probably interested in loud music and skateboarding if the side swept moppish haircut, baggy clothes and aloof slouch could be trusted.

Petruccio was an excellent judge of character after all.

"Hello, My name is Petruccio Auditore, do you mind?" He motioned to the chair across the table. He noticed right away the redhead hadn't had any lunch, but blue green eyes had peeked out through ruffled bangs at him and there wasn't any protest as he'd taken a seat. "What's your name?"

And then in a British accent; "Elizabeth, you can call me Eli."

He'd almost choked, and his eyes bugged. "Oh, n-nice to meet you."

He and Elizabeth had sat together every day since, and slowly, Petruccio had found himself becoming more and more… _Fond,_ of her.

Which felt wrong, because Elizabeth didn't act like a girl. She played video games, rode around on a skateboard, cursed and stole her older brother's cigarettes. She liked scary movies, hated shopping unless it was for video games or skate equipment, and took jellybeans from the bowl on their home room teacher's desk to feed her pet ferret.

And yesterday when he'd told her he wouldn't be coming to school that day because it was his missing brother's birthday… She'd kissed him, right on the mouth.

And as exciting as it had been, looking back on it he felt kind of… weirded out, because he wasn't sure if he saw her as a girl, she was his friend, someone he did stupid things with during afternoon break, someone he shared dirty jokes with, or shared his lunch with because she never brought one for herself.

Elizabeth wasn't a _girl_, she couldn't be! She was Eli, his friend, his… His… he wasn't exactly sure what to call their relationship. _Complicated _seemed to fit the best.

"What's up? I thought your family was on lockdown today?"

"That's the problem…"

In the background Elizabeth's brother called out to her in a singsong voice; "I'm leeeeaaaving yooooooooooouuu!"

"Fly awaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay theeeeeeeeeeen! You wicked little winged monkey…" She sang back at him. Then her voice seemed to grin. "I got my peeeeeeeeereiod this mooooooorniiiiiing—"

"Why did you think I needed to know that? What ever gave you the idea that I needed to know that?" Her brother whined.

"Because I'm out of product."

"Can't you go and get them yourself?"

"I'm a seventeen-year-old girl in a strange country, in a city full of, as you call them 'Crusty Ruffians'."

"You can't be serious—"

"You're going to be late."

"You… Fine, no television, no internet, and keep that bloody ferret in its cage. I'll bring some carryout for supper… And your—Things."

"Thank you, Sir Wanks-a-lot!"

Petruccio could just imagine her saluting, and felt somehow lightened by that fact.

Elizabeth had a way of making him feel that way. Light, as if nothing in the world could touch him. He didn't have to worry about anything, didn't have to fake his smiles because she seemed to draw them out effortlessly.

"Right, Pet, what's the matter?"

It hurt to say it, to admit what he and his family had been fighting to prove wrong.

"I think my brother's dead…"

Elizabeth grew silent, and he heard the creaking of her Ferret's cage as she pulled it out. "Ah… Want some company then?"

"Your brother just said you couldn't—"

"He also said I couldn't watch television, but what he doesn't know won't hurt him. You don't mind if I bring Snowman do you? Of course not. I'll be over in a few minutes… Ciao!"

"Nowaitaminute!" But the line and already gone dead in his hand.

He sighed and stowed his phone under his pillow.

It wasn't that his family would mind him having _one_ close friend over today, they allowed Claudia to have her boyfriend, whoever that may be at the time, and they'd allowed Federico to have his girlfriend, again, whoever that may be at the time, but with Petruccio it was different.

He'd told his family Elizabeth, _ELI,_ was a boy.

He avoided his family as best he could for the forty-five minutes it took Eli to get across town on the bus, it wasn't very hard, everyone but his parents were still asleep, and the softly whispered Italian from the kitchen let Petruccio know where they were. It was easy to creep outside to meet her.

She arrived as she usually did, fifteen minutes late, wearing a gray hooded sweatshirt out of which her Ferret peeked, gnawing happily on a jellybean. Her jeans were tattered, torn off just below the knee, and a cigarette poked out the corner of her mouth.

"Snowman had to stop for walkies, sorry."

Petruccio shrugged noncommittally and scooted over on the stoop to give her room to sit.

Snowman, made a growling noise and wiggled free of her hoodie, a little bell on his harness jingling as he scurried around, back arched, on the stoop. Crawling into one of his mother's flowerpots and digging a little hole to do his business in.

"Ah, sorry about that, he thinks its one of my brother's plants… I taught him to do his business in them so I don't have to clean his cage as often."

Petruccio shook his head and bowed his ear against his knees. "I hope you can stand boring, we usually just sit around and eat all day… And if I'm lucky Dad'll forget where he put his wineglass and leave it out."

Eli chuckled and flicked her cigarette butt into the street. "Not that much different than weekends with Sir Wanks-a-lot. Only you've actually got acceptable food in the house."

"Why do you call him that?"

"Because I check his online history every time I use the computer. And nine times out of ten there's pornography or adult toys."

Petruccio rolled his eyes. "And how old is he?"

"Twenty-three… Do you think your sister would want at him?"

"She's sworn off men again. And then you'd be like, my niece or something."

"EW!" She swatted him on the back of the head; "Don't be disgusting… He's not my father, he's only got custody over me cause Mum went off the deep end and tried to sell me to her dealer."

"Ouch."

"Nah, he's alright most the time… Unless it has to do with food… He's a total vegetarian, can't even look at bologna without cringing."

Petruccio chuckled into his forearms.

"Oi, what're you laughing at!"

"Nothing, just explains why you don't bring a lunch."

"Damn right, tofu is disgusting! Isn't it Snowman!" She scooped up her ferret and rubbed his nose against her own, then quickly turned toward the door upon hearing a muffled voice. "Sounds like someone's looking for you."

She got a grunt in reply.

Not ten seconds later the door cracked open and out peered Giovanni in a t-shirt and striped red and black silk pants. He took a deep breath through his nose and let it out in a sigh; "Petruccio." His eyebrows were up and his hair mussed, but he appeared to be more tired than angry. "Who is this?" He tilted his head.

"Eli."

"And this is Snowman." She held up the ferret and it dangled in her loose grip like a piece of knotted rope. "Just came over to offer a bit of support."

Giovanni looked pointedly down at where his youngest sat, smirking just the slightest bit. "You can support just as well from the kitchen. Breakfast is ready."

Eli practically shot into the house a quick; "Thank you!" over her shoulder.

Petruccio stood to follow and his father put a hand on his chest, face somehow stern even beneath an amused grin. "I thought you said Eli was a boy."

"I said; 'LIKE a boy'."

"Petruccio."

"Well, she is… Like a boy."

Giovanni patted his son's shoulder and pushed him lightly into the house; "Well go and rescue her before your mother starts making wedding plans… Though I think Federico may thank you for offering her a distraction from him."

"Lucky me…"

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Desmond didn't take too kindly to people who purposefully and maliciously lied to him. And it seemed that the 'Helpful' call he'd gotten from his Lit partner, reminding him that their midterm exam was that coming morning hadn't been so helpful after all.

So now Desmond was brooding. Perched vulture like on the stair railing overlooking his wonderful, helpful, rat bastard of a partner's early class, planning to murder him in a most inhuman way.

He wouldn't have been contemplating homicide if the night he'd spent studying hadn't been Lucy's birthday and he hadn't had to call her and say 'I can't make it to the party, I've got a midterm tomorrow and I didn't study at ALL.' He wouldn't have been thinking about dropping down on Shaun's head and stabbing him to death with a ballpoint pen if Lucy hadn't sounded so genuinely hurt when she'd said 'Oh, ok… Yeah, I don't want you to fail, its really important to you.'

Desmond wouldn't have been ready to break Shaun's neck if he hadn't gotten the shock of a lifetime that night as well when he'd been talking to Altair.

As it was Desmond's last nerves were frayed beyond recognition and he was just so _angry—_

"I take it from that lovely expression on your face you actually stayed up all night studying and I missed your lovely reaction?"

Shaun leaned against the rail by Desmond's hip looking wide awake and pleased with himself.

"You're an asshole… I had to blow off a party and—"

"But you studied?"

"Yes I studied. I stayed up all goddamned night studying and I show up at seven thirty but nobody's there!"

"But now you don't have to worry about studying for the exam next week." Shaun pulled a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket, scrutinized the number of thin sticks still in it and grumbled as he pulled one out.

"What part of 'I had to blow off a party—My GIRLFRIEND'S BIRTHDAY PARTY!' do you not understand?"

Shaun snorted and opened his mouth; "You mean your beard…"

Desmond spluttered; "You—"

"Oh, don't act so surprised. You're no more sexually attracted to that girl than she is you."

"I'll have you know, she's very attracted to me."

Shaun patted himself down for his lighter and spat a curse between his teeth when he couldn't find it.

"She's all over me when we're together!"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah! Can't keep her hands off of me!"

"Desmond?"

"What."

"Shut your cocktrap and give me a light."

"Fuck you, Hastings." And he took a little leap off the railing, landing on the sidewalk where he walked quickly away his face feeling hot.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you…" Shaun gave his back the two fingers and grumbled as he turned and started asking random people exiting the building if they had a light.

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Altair hated running barefooted. Hate-hate-hated it. But he hadn't had time to do more than shout over his shoulder to someone that wasn't there and take a leap out the window, rolling as he landed on the adjacent roof.

Innumerable rooftops and sharp rocks to the arch of his foot later Altair had to stop long enough to pull his shoes on over bloodstained torn socks, cursing as he just tangled the laces into knots and started running again in a confusing, zigzagging path, back and forth, left and right, forward, backtracking. It was almost as if the boy didn't know where he was going, but was just running like a scared rabbit.

Six more roofs and he saw the boy disappear, when he managed to get to the ledge he saw him climbing unsteadily down the side of a building, cursing quietly before his hands and feet slipped and he fell the last ten feet, legs buckling in an unhealthy manner as he hit the earth.

Running across rooftops was one thing, but actually practicing Parkour was a different thing entirely.

Almost anyone could run along a rooftop. If you had good balance and legs strong enough to propel you across alleyways, you could do it. But there was an exact science to Parkour. A way of life, a way of thinking, almost a religion behind it.

And Altair had been a true believer for eight years.

It was sad to just stand there and watch from the rooftop as the boy climbed slowly to his feet below, growling, trying to run, only to stumble and fall again. Ending up crawling and tucking between the wall and a dumpster, head on his knees.

Altair climbed slowly down to join him, sizing the boy up, sure of his footing before he continued. Most of his weight on his arms. His chest felt tight as he approached, dropping into a crouch about six feet away, a streetlight somewhere behind him casting just enough orange light that he could tell the boy's exposed right ankle was setting just to the left of straight and swelling rapidly.

The closer Altair got the more the boy shook and the quieter he became, until finally, just an arm's length away from him, his head lifted, and there was no mistaking him any more. No telling himself that it was just some kid who looked like him, no more fear that he would be too late.

Because there he was…

And he was stoned out of his mind.

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	15. Chapter 15

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**Chapter 15; The Boy in The Photograph**

Leo shouted shrilly in a mash of French and Italian when Altair returned nearly three hours after disappearing carrying Ezio in his arms. He stared, shocked when Madeline pulled open the door and the PI walked in.

Altair's eyes were dark, his jaw clenched and he'd stepped foot into the room and given Leo one look over the top of the young man's head.

And the blonde jumped, as if he'd heard orders without words being spoken.

The next thirty minutes were a blur.

An empty room on the first floor was hastily cleaned by six young women in various stages of undress, food and water was brought in, and Leo locked himself in the bathroom with his friend, struggling to calm drug induced hysteria as he washed all the dirt and grime and other substances from his body.

And Altair sat in the main office across a small table from a woman the girls called 'My Lady' but who insisted she be called Teodora. She spoke Arabic, but it was obvious from her accent her native tongue was Italian. It was kind of obvious why Ezio trusted her.

She offered him some wine to calm his nerves, and when he refused she pushed a glass into his hand anyway. "One glass won't hurt you."

He tasted it just to appease her, and cringed slightly when it burned his sinuses.

"I think his ankle's broken." He managed in a voice that sounded too steady to be comforting.

"Else saw him come in and told him you were bad men … She doesn't speak English very well, and didn't ask for things to be clarified when she saw you down stairs. She has offered herself to you as penance."

Altair shook his head quickly. "She didn't do anything wrong… She just didn't understand. If she still wants to… apologize she can help later when he starts to dry up."

"Dry up?"

Altair raised his head and gazed at her; "He's taken something, his pupils, the way he was shaking. It wasn't from pain or shock. I know what someone whose stoned looks like… Trust me." He rubbed his face and took a deep breath before continuing, centering himself. "I'm not sure what he was on, it could be anything, but whatever it was, when it starts to leave his system it's going to be bad."

Teodora nodded. "Should he be taken to a hospital?"

"Maybe… Probably." He took another drink just to give his hands something to do. It tasted a little better that time. "When he's cleaned up I want to check him over, make sure he's OK—"

"Assure yourself that it is him."

After a moment he nodded. "Then I'll have to make a phone call."

She nodded and was opening her mouth to speak when there was a quiet knock at the door and a small woman shuffled in, she looked to be into her thirties, with tiny lines at the corners of her eyes, standing at just over five feet tall, she hurried to Teodora's side, deposited something she'd had in her fist onto the table, and darted out again.

Altair was a little relieved and embarrassed when he recognized what it was.

"She says this is all he's taken." She nudged it forward on the table.

Altair scooped the bottle up and popped it open, counting the remaining two pills inside. "He took these out of my bag… Luckily there weren't very many in there."

"What are they for?" She looked at him curiously, an intelligent expression like that of a mother catching her son in a lie.

He rolled up his left sleeve, exposing the scars on his forearm from the surgical plates installed during his surgery years ago, then the ones at his shoulder. "Things."

She seemed to accept this and didn't say anything more. "In that case, he has calmed down, Leo says he has asked for you…"

He took a deep breath and stood on legs that felt like sticks protruding from his hips, and walked down the hall, watching as the crowd of women parted to let him pass.

Leo was sitting on the bed, legs crossed, petting through Ezio's still wet hair, and the younger man was curled in on himself, gripping the sheet, pupils still impossibly large, but there was no fear in his eyes now, there was something else, anger almost. Need… Hope.

Their eyes connected for the briefest of seconds, and then Ezio was sitting up, fingers tangled in Altair's jacket front, pulling him, as if trying to crawl up the older man's front like a ladder.

So, he sat and let Ezio cling to him. Let him just breathe before any words were spoken.

He was numb, hovering above himself in a dreamlike state, disbelieving but at the same time grabbing on and refusing to let go. It was such a relief to just feel Ezio's heart beating, to feel him breathing, such a relief to know he was alive, to know the nightmare was over.

It seemed to take forever the world hushed save for a soft lullaby like humming noise coming from Leo, while the blonde petted through Ezio's hair, working out knots and tangles with his long, nimble fingers.

Altair asked in a quiet voice things he needed to hear, but knew in his heart; name, age, parents' names, had he taken anything other than the pills. With each quick whispered answer his heart seemed to ache more and more until he just couldn't stand it any longer and he snatched his cell phone out of his pocket and cursed under his breath until it turned on.

His heart seemed to be fluttering madly now, and he cursed himself twice when he dialed the wrong numbers and had to start again. But then finally—FINALLY.

The phone started ringing.

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Giovanni liked birds. Most specifically, he liked sitting on his roof with a pair of binoculars and watching hawks swooping from the tall buildings near his home.

He remembered as a child playing with his brother, flying kites in the park, they had one day stumbled across a young hawk grounded from heat exhaustion. They'd shared their water and some of their lunch with it, and his older brother Mario, being an infinitely brilliant and strong boy of ten, had decided he was going to pick the hawk up and take it home as a pet.

Too bad the hawk hadn't wanted to be picked up, and decided to gouge out one of Mario's eyes as payment.

It had been a traumatic experience for the both of them, but to look at them now, you'd think it was the funniest thing on the face of the earth.

Mario liked to frighten children by popping out his glass eye and pretending to swallow it, or make the iris roll backward until all you could see was white glass and intricate little red silk threads put into the enamel to make it look real.

Mario also had an all black one he wore at Halloween.

Giovanni liked to call him 'Mad-eye' like the character in a book series he'd been unfortunate enough to have become addicted to when Claudia was in middle school.

Mad-eye Mario…

Giovanni also liked to call his brother a pirate, because only pirates could have such quality rum at their disposal night and day.

It wasn't that he drank a lot, because in all actuality he didn't drink any more than the next man. He just did so over extended periods. A glass of wine could last an hour, maybe longer. He liked to savor it, liked to break down the different tastes and aromas until he'd experienced every single last facet of it. And this made it look like he drank more than he did.

The only time he did tend to drink a little more than he should was when his wife became overcome with grief. They'd always seemed to have a strange connection to one another. What one felt, the other felt too. And when Maria mourned… She mourned with her entire being.

The day had started as usually as any other day. Maria woke and together they bathed and he watched her as she brushed her hair, they dressed, and she made coffee. They sat at the kitchen table and watched the sun rise. She would be quiet until one of the children woke. Most usually Petruccio. Claudia enjoyed her beauty sleep, and Federico only came home on Sundays, holidays or special days like this, he rose earliest of all on those days and made breakfast for everybody, then fell asleep on the back deck with a book on his chest, a bird or a squirrel picking at what was left of his food.

That morning when Petruccio woke Maria had started talking, hushed, saying how happy she was to have such a beautiful family with Giovanni, and that it would be soon. They would find Ezio soon.

There was always such hope in her words. He wanted to wrap himself up in it, wanted to wrap her up in it for the other three-hundred sixty-four days of the year. Because sometimes it was just so hard to hope.

Today had been one of those days.

Petruccio barely spoke. Claudia moved around as if in a daze. Federico kept puzzling over something, and whenever he was asked what was wrong he would shake his head and say; 'nothing, nothing…' and wonder off to think someplace else.

Maria had tried her best, she'd smiled and talked with Eli, learned as much as she could about the child she'd always assumed was a boy, and concluded that she and Petruccio were adorable together, whispering so much to Giovanni halfway through breakfast.

Everything had gone so well until after lunch… A noise from the sitting room.

Breaking glass.

When Giovanni went to investigate he found the photo of Ezio they'd kept on a shelf above the fireplace had fallen.

And after that, as soon as Maria saw what had happened, she'd retreated upstairs. Claudia sat down at the kitchen table, and Federico started making fudge.

Petruccio and Eli disappeared into the den with Snowman, Eli's ferret, and quiet music drifted out every so often.

So, Giovanni went to the roof, and shortly after, Mario followed.

The sun was setting, only a thin gold speck above the horizon, and the hawks had gone to roost.

"She thinks it was an omen." Giovanni spoke to the air. "I've dropped pictures and broken the glass before, they've fallen off shelves before and she pays no mind but trying to decide what kind of new frame to get… But this time, this time it's an omen."

"Hope is a hard thing to keep alive… It's like goldfish."

"Goldfish? You can't keep a goldfish alive?"

"You can?" Mario dropped into one of the sturdy all-weather chairs beside his brother.

"It's easy, all it takes is proper care…" He chuckled darkly; "No wonder mother never allowed you to have any pets."

"That's all hope needs, proper care. It needs to be fed, sustained… You can't just sit back and expect it to stay alive."

"I have hoped every day for the past nine years that he would come home, that he would be found… I still hope that he will—"

"But it's hard to do?"

"Yes."

"Who ever said it would be easy?"

"You offering me wisdom is a rare thing."

"No it isn't."

Giovanni couldn't help but chuckle at that.

"It isn't, you'd be lost without me!" Mario emptied his glass and climbed slowly to his feet, picking up the binoculars and training the on a bedroom window some two blocks away, trying to make out the feminine form moving behind the thin curtain.

Giovanni hummed in reply and climbed slowly to his feet, his mouth opened to say something about where his brother was looking but there was a noise and instead his hand went to the pocket of his jacket, eyebrows scrunched. "I thought I turned you off." He pulled the phone out, and blinked in confusion at the ID.

And his stomach did a funny little almost drunken flip as he pressed the phone to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Auditore?"

His brows scrunched. "Altair? W—How are you? Federico told me you were on vacation."

"No quite… I—I need you to sit down a second."

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"Ma'ma, where are Pa'pa and Zio Mario?"

"Probably up on the roof with the other pigeons…" Maria shifted her chopsticks in her hand and blinked across the table at Claudia smiling softly, then she flicked her eyes to Petruccio, "I like your… Your friend, Petruccio, she's a little rough around the edges, but she's very nice."

Petruccio hid his face and shoved more food in his mouth instead.

Claudia grinned deviously at him from across the table. "Why didn't you tell us you had a girlfriend!"

He bowed his head even more until his nose was practically level with his plate.

Federico chuckled and leaned over to whisper in Petruccio's ear; "Blushing only makes them worse. They're like vampires, they can smell blood!" He made a disgusting slurping sound and held his index fingers up like fangs over his teeth.

"Her brother was a little rushed, did you see that vein in his forehead, I think he's got high blood pressure or something." Claudia reached for another takeout container, scooping out some spicy chicken onto her plate.

"I thought you'd sworn off men, Claudia?" Federico looked at her with a deadpan expression on his face.

"Oh, be quiet, you wouldn't know a man if one bit you on the a—"

"Claudia."

"Sorry, mother."

"What is her brother going to school for?" Maria peered over the top of her wine glass.

"Criminal Justice, she said he wants to be a Detective or something, he's not doing very well in a few classes though, and she said one of his classmates is making him miserable."

Federico's phone chirped in his pocket and he blanched the color of cooked salmon, whispered an excuse to his mother and backed quickly away from the table to answer it. _"It's Katie… I'll be right back."_

Maria rolled her eyes. She hated cell phones sometimes.

There was a loud startled curse from the kitchen, and a thumping sound like somebody falling down the stairs. "What the hell!"

Giovanni seemed to explode into the dining room, his face red and blotchy, eyes streaming, smiling from ear to ear, so wide Maria could see fillings in his molars.

Federico appeared in the doorway followed quickly by Mario all staring wide eyed, watching as Giovanni embraced his wife tightly, drawing her out of her seat, phone held high above his head. Practically dancing around. "Listen! LISTEN TO THIS!" He fumbled with his phone for a few seconds, cursed his fingers and then, distorted slightly, there was a voice.

"Mr. Auditore?"

"Say it again! LOUDLY!" He shouted back.

Altair's voice was stained, but clear as a bell;

"I found Ezio."

There was a silence, lasting half a breath, and all ears strained to pick up even the slightest sound over the little speaker in Giovanni's phone.

"He's alive, and he's sitting right here with me… I thought you guys woul—"

They didn't hear the rest of the sentence.

Maria grabbed at the phone, then her husband, then the phone again.

Altair heard only a thunderous noise or sobs, cheers and cries of the boy's name. Sometime during the fray Federico's voice called out loudly that everyone had to be quiet, and the noise fell to hushed crying.

"Altair, you have to call the consulate! He'll need a lawyer, paperwork—Oh, God the paperwork!" Then quickly after that; "Did you say he's there? Can he hear us!"

A soft blipping of pressed buttons; "He can now."

The noise exploded again and everyone in the room flinched. Teodora turned and started shooing everyone except Leo, Altair, the girl bandaging Ezio's ankle and herself, locking the door so they wouldn't be interrupted.

Ezio winced visibly at the noise and gripped tighter to Altair, head shaking back and forth, eyes pleading.

"Ezio! Ezio, are you alright? Can you hear me? Are you OK?" Seemed to be the basis of everything shouted at him.

And it all came down to one thing that was suddenly glaringly obvious just by looking at how the young man had curled against Altair's side, not to mention that his lips were forming the same, silent words over and over; 'Don't let me go.'

Altair gained clarity with a sensation like a punch to the gut. Calling the Auditores had been a mistake. Ezio wasn't ready for this.

He wasn't ready at all.

Leo leaned forward, whispering quietly into Ezio's ear. "Just say hello… Tell them that you love them and will see them soon. It'll be alright, I promise. That's all you have to do right now."

His voice was cracked, almost robotic, but he spoke. "Mom?"

The noise quieted and Maria's voice stood out strong and yet somehow gentle in a way that expected nothing. Just knowing, just hearing him breathe, had been enough to confirm he was alive and that they would be together again soon. "Hello, Ezio."

"Y-you're speaking English."

She laughed. "Yes, I am!" Her breath hitched, "I'm a teacher now Ezio."

"Wow."

"Claudia works at the bank with your father. Petruccio's Leukemia has been in remission for two and a half years now, he's graduating High School in the spring, Salutatorian—"

Federico's voice cut through suddenly; "I'm a lawyer, Ezio! Can you believe that!"

"He will be, he's still in Law School… You're so overeager!" Claudia scolded.

Maria laughed and Altair saw wetness rolling down both of Ezio's cheeks and he looked right into the older man's eyes, fingers tight like bony claws on his arms, voice low and barely audible. "I… I want to go home, now… Please. Can I go home?"

It hurt to speak, even though they were happy words, it hurt to say them because the expression on Ezio's face was so hopeless, so hurt and scared, he knew even after he'd said them that Ezio wouldn't believe them until he was actually back in his parents' arms.

"Yeah… Yeah, you can go home. I'll take you home."

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	16. Chapter 16

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**Chapter 16; Warm Welcome**

The US Consulate it seemed could actually work at an acceptable pace when prompted.

Especially when that prompting came in the form of a man, five feet six inches tall, Lawyer by trade, with an unusual accent who called himself 'La Volpe'…

Altair got the distinct impression that this little man could have him for dinner if he so chose. He smiled with squinty purple eyes and too many teeth, had an affinity for the word 'Asinine' and also so happened to be a friend of Mario and Giovanni from 'way back'.

Altair didn't like the way he rubbed his hands together when he said it. What he did like, however, was how quickly the man worked.

Fifteen minutes after he was able to convince the Auditore family to hang up and let Ezio rest, he got a call from this man, and barely an hour later, the man himself was standing before him still wearing what looked to be his pajamas, reddish brown hair pulled back into a ponytail and secured at equal intervals with three gold elastic bands.

When he wasn't speaking in a riddle of legal and technical terms he used quick sentences. 'Do this' 'don't do that' 'I take cream in my tea'.

And he seemed fluent in every language known to man and switched between them at will.

He also seemed to be an adept hypnotist because one moment he'd been talking quickly and precisely about all the procedure that needed to be taken care of. That it took a lot of paperwork to bring a person back from the dead, and then he'd looked over at Altair, clapped his hands together and said; "You're dead on your feet, aren't you! Go to sleep!"

And Altair had woken twelve hours later lying sprawled on his back, perfectly boneless, relaxed like he hadn't been in years. With Ezio curled up on his left side, and Leo to his right… And La Volpe himself standing over the foot of the bed… _Grinning_. "Ah, good to see you're awake. We've got to get Ezio to a hospital, checkup, shots, fluids, proper food, you know the drill."

"You enjoy this don't you," He grumbled after shaking himself awake enough to respond.

"More than you'll ever know." And he seemed to disappear into the ether.

Rosa was there when he managed to fully rouse himself. She smiled tenderly and cleared a path while he carried Ezio to the car. The young man was deeply asleep, only partially waking when they arrived at the hospital, greeted by Agents from the consulate as well as a horde of doctors.

Photos were taken of his injuries, blood was drawn, x-rays of his leg and ankle. His foot was put in a cast, and he was hooked up to IV fluids.

The Auditores called about every two hours and each time Altair felt terribly guilty for telling them that Ezio couldn't talk because he was asleep. He'd had a bad sinus and ear infection, and he was resting while the medication he'd been given did its job.

Sleep was a good thing. It meant he was healing. Even though Altair knew he was partially sedated to keep him calm while the doctors did their jobs and ran tests or performed exams that were less than pleasant.

Three days he slept, three days during which it seemed Altair's phone didn't stop ringing, and he realized he was spending more time at the hospital going through paperwork with the consulate and FBI than in the room he'd been loaned at Teodora's 'Convent'.

It got to the point that he only answered his phone if it was from Malik or Giovanni's private cell.

Hadiya scolded him almost nightly, shouting to be heard over Malik, saying that if she'd wanted to be his secretary she would have married him instead, but at the same time congratulating him on finding Ezio.

Altair didn't know why she did that.

He should have been verbally harassed by every person who called him that it had taken him _nine years_ to find Ezio.

It was even more disturbing when he dreamed. Dreamed of getting on a plane with the boy, only for him to go missing midair, never to be seen again. Or the plane crash and they all died.

Or he suddenly became allergic to the medication he was being given and died.

He was tempted to call that strange little lawyer again and ask him if he could sleep now, just to see if he was as adept at hypnosis as he'd appeared to be days before.

It was even worse with Desmond.

Desmond who called every night to check up on them. Ask calmly how Ezio was doing, remind Altair to eat something, and give a report on the progress of paperwork.

Altair asked him how his test had gone, and Desmond said quietly. "I had to reschedule it… This is too important, and it's distracting, I want to be able to focus solely on the test when the time comes." As rational as it was, Altair was a little irritated… He liked Desmond just fine, but wished the kid would hurry up and get out on his own. Desmond could do it. Despite how he acted sometimes, he was smart… most of the time.

The tension. The waiting, the uncertainty, became unbearable.

Altair found himself just sitting by Ezio's bed, rubbing at the scar on his mouth and staring at the rise and fall of the young man's chest.

Hospitals always unnerved him, made him jumpy and nervous, and paranoid. He wanted to get Ezio home, wanted to go home himself and hide in his room for a week, in his own bed, in his own city. Wanted to forget Ezio's injuries, wanted to forget the pain and fear he'd seen in Leo's eyes. He never wanted to hear the name 'Rodrigo Borgia' ever again, or look in the mirror and see the brand mark of a sex trafficker etched into his skin and remember that there were more people out there who'd been stolen from their homes just like Ezio had… Like Desmond almost had been.

But even as he told himself that as soon as he got home he would forget, he knew he never would. And that this was just the tip of the iceberg…

So he stared at Ezio for hours at a time, just watching him, wondering, afraid to wonder what might be going through his mind, who he was now after nine years of hell.

He hadn't reacted to his family's voices on his own, it had taken Leo telling him what to do to make him speak. What if these 'Bosses' of his had brainwashed him? What if he was too traumatized to return to life a he had once known it?

What if all of it had been in vain?

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Ezio woke on the forth morning. He seemed dazed, confused as to where he was, or why he was there. Who he was…

The doctors reassured Altair every time they entered the room that it was normal, but it didn't make it any more comforting when the younger man looked over at him and asked who he was.

The day that told him everything would be OK though, and relieved most of the anxiety in his heart, was the second Monday. Ten days since Ezio had been admitted, Altair walked into the room sipping gingerly at a stale cup of coffee—And Ezio was sitting up in bed, shoveling food in his mouth while at the same time talking with a man in a linen suit and a distinctly Moroccan accent.

Ezio looked up at Altair when he entered and stared at him with wide eyes, speaking in a firm but still somehow dreamy voice; "I'm going home."

It happened four times more that day. He would pause whatever he was doing and say it. "I'm going home."

That night when the Auditores' called, Altair handed his phone over and let Ezio talk privately while he stepped into the hall and took notes on the report the doctor gave him as Ezio's appointed temporary caregiver. He felt like a bondsman, or a parole officer.

"Psych evaluation came back OK, he's got a vitamin D deficiency but that can be cleared up with proper nutrition, and so far all his blood work has come back negative. No TB, no infections other than his sinuses and ears. The bruising has healed nicely, and the lacerations to his inner thighs have healed."

"So he's OK?"

"Physically there is nothing keeping him here. As soon as the US government gives the OK, he's free to fly, so to speak… But such traumas as he has undergone, they take time to heal. Years, decades sometimes. His family is going to play a vital role in his recovery. They need to understand that he may be easily frightened or disconcerted by touches, by sounds, or smells. It's not uncommon for someone in his situation to be entirely unable to bear physical contact… They have to know his boundaries, and they have to know the signs of depression, or harmful and dangerous behavior, what to look for because he might not be able to tell them what they're doing is making him uncomfortable."

Altair nodded, still writing quickly.

"He'll also need twice weekly sessions with a therapist, or a psychologist, someone to keep track of his mental state."

"That's already been arranged."

The doctor flipped through his file, sighing, then nodded. "Right then… Personally, I think it might be best if he spends some time in a transitional space before he's taken home. Suddenly being thrust into a place that holds so many memories and reminders of the person he was as a child could be detrimental to him at this point. Nothing extravagant, just a place where he and his family can get to know one another again… A quiet room, or a park. Some place that isn't threatening to him. He'll need structure, something he can count on, a routine… I've written more in here, his doctor in the States will come up with a more comprehensive plan of action. This is going to take time. It won't happen overnight, and no one thing will 'fix' or 'cure' or 'heal' him. The healing process can be a long and arduous battle, but, from what you've told me of his family, they seem like they'll do just fine."

That night, to his surprise, Walker called to relay the itinerary.

"The FBI got hotel rooms at an undisclosed location for the Auditores. You'll both be picked up at the hospital by _lovely_ FBI chauffeur and taken to Casablanca, where your plane leaves at Noon."

"That early?"

"Oh, yeah."

"FBI chauffer?"

"Yep."

"So I guess that means no shopping."

"Hardy-har-har… You want to go shopping, you should have taken a vacation."

"Yeah-yeah." He chuckled.

"Hey, you'll never guess what happened to me today."

"What." Altair fished around in his pocket for a piece of candy or something to quiet his grumbling stomach. Knowing that he'd end up being chastised for not eating if it got any louder.

"Dad pulled me aside and asked about you. Scared the shit outta me, I thought he was gonna say he was dieing or something."

Altair felt a cold shard tremble in his chest. "He asked about me?"

"Yep, by name even. I thought Chris was gonna shit himself."

"Wow."

"Yeah, wow! The guy refuses to speak of you for ten years and suddenly he's askin' about you, wanted to know if you'd come over for lunch on Sunday. Said there was stuff to discuss."

"What'd mom say?"

"Usual, asked if you'd been eating, clean underwear, the works."

That did make him smile.

"So, what should I tell the old man about Sunday?"

"Tell him… Tell him I'll think about it."

"Like, honestly think about it, or 'piss on you' think about it."

"I'll think about it."

"OK, bring a date if you got one… He's actually going to cook something on the grill."

Altair rocked back in his seat; "What kind of date? You mean, one I like, or one he'd like me to like."

"The kind that'll get pregnant and give him grandkids."

"That's comforting… Thanks."

"Eh, worked for me."

"Yeah, but I don't think he wanted grandkids when you were sixteen."

"He ain't complaining now is he, smartass."

"You win… Look, I've got to go now, my phone bill is going to be coming out my nose as it is."

"Sucker, see you tomorrow."

"Yeah, see you tomorrow."

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Altair decided the second he stepped foot on the plane, Ezio behind him hobbling uneasily on crutches, that celebrity status had something right with the FBI. Not only had they managed to get a plane with no screaming babies, but it was a private jet… With a mini bar, and a chef. A freaking CHEF!

The two agents who'd escorted them from the hospital chatted back and forth with Ezio, bringing him up to date on the goings on of the sports and political world.

Ezio seemed to be more terrified than anything and kept quiet, squashed back in his seat, eyeing them, nodding every so often so they knew he was still alive.

It wasn't until they were already in the air, that Altair realized why.

They were in a private jet. A private jet just like the one that had delivered Ezio into the waiting hands of the sick bastards who'd used and abused him.

He tried to distract him, tried to play games with him, finding a pack of cards in a compartment somewhere and teaching him the basics of Texas Hold'em, Blackjack and Five Card Stud. Then the four of them ended up playing Blackjack for two hours with the chef for pretzels that mysteriously kept disappearing from the tabletop.

Ezio finally managed to drink something, eat half a chicken salad sandwich, and keep it down, despite the fact he kept saying he felt like he was going to throw up.

Eventually the nausea eased into a stomachache and that into unease. He didn't sleep the whole trip, and when he wasn't using one word sentences to communicate, or warily playing cards, he was staring out the window and fingering the scar on his lips.

The two FBI agents slid to the other end of the cabin for a while after cards got boring, and Altair dropped into the seat across the little table from Ezio, leaning back and folding his hands on his stomach, just taking a few minutes to look the kid up and down.

He'd gained weight in the past week. His cheeks seemed less hollow, and his ribs didn't resemble a washboard beneath his skin. He looked almost human… Almost.

"What's up?"

His hand raised, fingers tangling in his shirt front and he played with the buttons for a few moments. "I miss Leo… I just left him without saying goodbye."

"You'll see him again."

Ezio turned to look at him, confused.

"Don't worry about it."

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The plane landing was less than smooth. By the time it had stilled and come to a halt on the runway, the turbulence from temporarily quieted storms had left Altair barely clinging to the contents of his stomach.

But the look on Ezio's face made all the discomfort worth while.

It was as if he'd finally realized he was actually going home.

Their two escorts talked covertly into tiny microphones attached to earpieces, whispers and code, all cool calm composure behind black Oakley's and starched collars.

"Okay, there's a lot of press out there, they're going to be tough, they'll get in your face and try to push you up against the walls, but you've got to stay calm—"

"My family is in there?"

"—We're going to escort you to a private conference room where you'll be reunited with your family, they've requested this be a private affair, just them and you." He pointed to Altair. _"You_ will then be escorted to a blackout van and taken to your hotel. The lead investigator on the case is going to give a press-conference as a distraction so hopefully there won't be any trouble getting you out of here."

"My mother isn't going to like my hair… She always kept my hair short." He pawed at it compulsively. "What if she doesn't recognize me?" He looked positively horrified at the concept. "I don't look the same anymore. What if they don't recognize me?"

In his head all Altair could hear was; 'What if they don't love me anymore? What if I don't make them happy?' It was heartbreaking and with a deep breath for courage he leaned close to the young man and pressed their heads together; "Ezio," He smiled, truly smiled. "You look fine. And you grew up, of course you look different, but one good thing about growing up, besides all that political bullshit is that you grew up to look just like your dad… So even if you do look different, trust me, they'll recognize you. There's no way they won't."

He remained quiet for a long while, just staring, before with a deep breath, he nodded.

The transfer to the airport van was quick and rather painless. Baggage tucked in with them.

Ezio was seated in the back between the two FBI agents with his head and face hidden in a hooded sweatshirt, Altair in the front of the van beside the driver, carryon bag with his computer in it on his lap, fingers tapping out a cadence on the zippers, feeling somehow dangerous behind sunglasses he'd been given.

He was willing to bet he could sell them on E-bay for fifty bucks or more when he got home.

Tension seemed to rise unbearably quick in those scant few seconds it took to drive down the tarmac to the main terminal.

As soon as the van pulled to a stop beside the side entrance cameramen and reporters swarmed the van like angry ants. Pressing their camera lenses against the glass, shouting questions and mispronouncing Ezio's name. But somehow managing to get every single syllable of the entirety of Altair's name exactly correct. Eyes damning, asking him questions about his mental health, about his military discharge, his biological mother. Asking just what he'd been doing with the Auditore's money those nine years, and why it took so long to find Ezio.

Altair just kept his head down, recognizing the glint in their eyes, the hunger for flaws that they could distort. Salivating for any little crack they could plunge their claws into and pry open just to start the bleeding all over again.

The transfer happened quickly. Doors flew open and both Agents were suddenly outside, looping Ezio's arms around their necks and practically carrying him, Altair left with the crutches, just to make it go faster.

And then the door slammed shut behind them and it was quiet.

The reporters were just a dull hum almost completely washed out by the air conditioning.

One of the two agents snatched the crutches from Altair and handed them back, watching as Ezio settled his weight and hobbled a few steps breathing deeply in and out, in and out.

"Alright, what's going to happen is, in a few minutes you'll be taken down this hallway into the conference room where your family is waiting… There will be two agents at the exit. Mr. Ibn-La'Ahad, you will be allowed in the room for fifteen minutes, then you'll be escorted out. Your ride is waiting at the front of the building."

Altair nodded and hiked his bag higher onto his shoulder. What happened after he left that room would be terribly emotional, a time only for Ezio and his family.

Ezio wiggled his toes in his cast, staring down at them as if they were stupid things, gnawing his lip, glancing around nervously. "They're really here?" He glanced down the hallway to where two formally attired agents were standing at ease on either side of a door. "Down there?"

"Yeah."

"Right down there?"

"Yeah."

A few seconds later the door at the end of the hall opened and two men walked out, one Altair recognized immediately as Walker, looking somehow like one of those TV evangelists with his brown hair slicked back and his collar tight to his neck.

The other man was dressed in a gray suit, jacket unbuttoned, and had an official looking badge hanging from his pocket. He was smiling, but still looking somehow like he owned the place, simply because he held an air of superiority, even when he looked less formal than the agents he was directing.

Walker gave Altair a small nod but otherwise didn't say anything, just gazed at Ezio with a thinly veiled expression of sadness. Like he wanted to wrap his arms around the young man and hug him.

The other man introduced himself to Ezio and spoke in a calm, soft voice. He kept his hands at about waist level, gesturing every so often in a way that was supposed to be calming and reassuring. He never touched Ezio. Just smiled kindly and motioned down the hall with a rather sincere sounding; "I think you've waited long enough."

Movement started slowly, the taller of the two agents following Walker and the lead Investigator, Altair and Ezio shoulder to shoulder, with the shorter of the two feds behind them.

Altair felt like he was being marched to his death.

Had Ezio been able to talk at that moment he would have agreed whole heartedly.

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Inside the conference room there was a round table with ten chairs set evenly spaced around it. The airport had supplied minimal catering. Coffee, doughnuts, bottled water and a tray of small little finger sandwiches it seemed only two people in the room were attracted to.

And never let it be said that Desmond was discriminate against any kind of food, other than his father's cooking that is, and that was simply because he didn't want food poisoning from undercooked chicken a second time.

Desmond and Federico though, were both nervous eaters. And had Maria not been clinging tightly to Giovanni, he would have been joining them.

His and his wife's eyes were locked on the door, hearts in their throats.

Claudia was nervously nibbling at her lips, fingernails clacking against the table in an offbeat rhythm.

Petruccio had his arms crossed high on his chest and was staring unblinkingly at the thin frosted glass window beside the door. It reminded him of windows in hospitals and it gave him a distinctly nervous feeling in his gut.

And then there were shadows, just as Federico and Desmond struck up a bored conversation;

"So, how are things?"

"Good, good… You?"

And the doorknob twisted, all eyes suddenly drawn to it like lasers.

Chairs scuffed against the carpet and the door swung slowly open.

Walker opened the door and held it open with an outstretched, professional arm, and the Lead Investigator stepped halfway into the room; "Ready?"

Giovanni felt his wife's fingers tighten against his own, and he swallowed a lump in his throat before he nodded.

There was enough time to draw a quick breath, a 'This is it!' gasp—

And there he was, peeking in with wide disbelieving eyes, metal crutches clicking slightly as he moved.

He stood there for the longest time just staring without blinking, scanning each face and finding them familiar, so familiar!

His mother's hair was shorter now, cropped to lay below her shoulders, layered to bring out the curl, there were thin lines at the corners of her eyes. Eyes that were open wide shining with jubilant tears.

His father's hair was pulled back, almost identical to how he remembered him, save hints of silver at his temples.

Claudia… Dear, God, Claudia looked exactly like mother! She'd lost the slight plumpness of childhood, and matured just perfectly. And there was Petruccio, staring at him with his mouth hanging open, so different, so much taller, stronger looking, and he had the beginnings of light fuzz on his upper lip.

Then his eyes fell on Federico, taller, broader across the chest, hair still roguishly shaggy, he had a small scar above his right eyebrow, and a small stud in his left earlobe… Not only that, there was a strange woman standing behind him, peering over his shoulder with her fingers over her mouth.

And then there was a noise. A soft whimper like a small puppy and someone was moving toward him quickly.

Instinct made him freeze, made fear pull at the bottom of his stomach—But, he knew that face as well. Tall, thin, lanky, with a bit of mustard on his chin and messy wavy hair that poked upward at his crown, dark eyes—"Desmond?"

And then they were crushed together, clinging and Ezio couldn't hold it in anymore. He was crying, and didn't know he'd been on the verge of it until sobs were breaking his ribs. More arms now, familiar scents. His mother's shampoo, his father's cologne.

It all came crashing back like a blow to the face and his fingers reached out, grabbing and pulling, almost hysterical with the realization and flood of relief.

Desmond shuffled to the side, rubbing a hand between Ezio's shoulder blades, and Claudia was there, just half a head shorter than him in her high heels, squeezing him, mumbling things that were too distorted by happy tears to be understood, but cherished just the same.

Then Petruccio was wedging himself under Claudia's arm, his voice cracking in that embarrassingly pubescent way. He was taller, almost Ezio's height now, thin but strong as his arms wrapped around his brother and squeezed.

And Papa's fingers were in his hair, his breath warm and smelling of too much coffee, but his presence so utterly solid. And Mama was there too, and Ezio didn't think he could stay upright any longer.

"Ezio-Ezio, Fratello! LOOK!" And Federico pushed his way into the crowd pulling that strange woman by the hand. "Ezio, this is Katie!" He was grinning from ear to ear, eyes bloodshot and running, then suddenly he was on his knees, grabbing Katie by her widened hips and nuzzling his cheek lovingly into the protruding roundness of her belly; "And THIS! Is Giovanni!"

"We haven't agreed on that," Katie patted his head and glanced around embarrassed.

Federico made a rude spluttering noise with his mouth and flapped his hand in a way that said his mind was set.

Beside him Ezio heard his father sigh and saw him drop his head into his hand.

Maria inclined her head toward her son and whispered; "Welcome home, Ezio." Then drew him into a hug he wasn't sure he ever wanted to end.

Altair had just enough time to hand over the notes he'd taken from the doctor, and catch his breath before Giovanni crushed him, their heights and builds just similar enough that the older man's pressure made his ribs ache. He spoke quickly, his voice strained and Altair felt his chest tighten painfully. Not believing he deserved the praise or thanks.

He felt awkward as he inched out of the room, watching the love, the joy and relief for as long as he could before the door shut and there was nothing left but shadows on glass.

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	17. Chapter 17

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**Chapter 17; New Beginnings**

The press conference distraction seemed to have at least half worked. Photographers and journalists still followed them, but not as many as before.

Ezio was squished between his parents in a black van with heavily tinted windows. There were three of them, two decoys and the real van. This one lead them into the city, L trains whizzing overhead, taxi's shifting by them at slow paces.

It was practically dark, the city lit up like Christmas. A few ships and boats blinked like stars on the water.

It was dizzying, all the side streets and turns they took, but Ezio watched it all, memorized each twist, each street, so wide and immense seeming. Landmarks, escape routes. Instinct that had kept him alive for nine years seemed now to betray him.

He knew, realized he was with his family, was safe, but still something told him it was a lie. Something told him it was just a dream.

The hotel was a white tower with blue lights along the outside, just a blur as they were rushed quickly inward, police officers standing guard at the door to make sure they weren't bothered.

They were ushered into an elevator, and taken up four floors, a floor completely empty of other patrons, greeted by the hotel manager who shook each hand and showed them to their rooms, displayed a complementary fruit basket on each of the three tables like a show girl from Jeopardy, and the Five Star dinner that had been supplied for them free of charge.

Ezio didn't like the manager at all. He didn't blink, and his smile was just a little too wide.

Giovanni thanked him kindly, graciously, shook his hand until his shoulder ached, and finally… FINALLY, the man disappeared into the elevator.

Two uniformed police officers stayed, one by the elevator, one by the stairs, but other than that, Giovanni was alone with his family.

His _whole_ family.

Federico was picking at the food they'd been provided, loading a plate and talking quietly to Katie.

Claudia was sprawled on her back on one of the two large beds in the room, and Petruccio was sitting at her hip just staring at Ezio while Maria gently ran her hand over his head, whispering to him where he leaned against the wall.

Dinner, despite the finery of it, the seafood, the pizza, the rotisserie chicken, vegetable platters, and delicate desserts, was a strangely casual affair.

Maria and Giovanni were sitting in the floor, side by side, Claudia was lounging on her stomach on the bed, bare feet in the air nibbling fruit, Petruccio had found a comfortable spot sitting on his duffel bag with half a pizza, Federico was in the floor also, Katie on a chair at his shoulder. And Ezio was in the second of the two chairs in the room, injured leg on the bed to Claudia's left.

It was so odd, so natural and relaxed that Ezio almost forgot he'd ever been gone. Almost forgot he'd been separated from his family for nine years.

His parents shared stories of the goings on of the Auditore family. Claudia's first boyfriend and the fiasco he'd created, this directly led into how Federico earned that scar on his forehead, and how he'd met Katie, the nurse who'd stitched him up.

Ezio learned about his uncle Mario's marriage troubles. His mother's decision to become a teacher. He heard the story of Claudia taking Karate classes when her second boyfriend had become obsessive and physically abusive and Federico had been away at college and unable to defend her honor, then watched with a smile on his face as Claudia was goaded and coerced into giving proof of her black belt, and admitted he was very impressed.

Petruccio told him about the Science fairs he'd entered and his desire to become an ornithologist. Then he was embarrassed into speaking quickly about Eli, saying simply that they were friends and he didn't know why mom and dad were looking at him like that she was just a friend so they should stop looking at him like that.

Federico gave Ezio a wink out of the corner of his eye, and when he was prompted motioned to Katie's belly and said; "I think this explains everything nicely."

Maria had shook her head in dismay and said; "Like father like son."

And Giovanni spat soda out of his nose.

"I didn't mean it like that," Maria scowled at him playfully; "Where is your mind this evening." She turned and scowled at Petruccio who was giggling into his fist. "And I don't know why you're laughing. You're too young to have such a dirty mind!"

That just made him laugh harder than ever.

"See what you've done, you've corrupted our baby!" Maria pointed and stared daggers at her husband.

He held up his hands, still coughing; "No, that's all your doing… You've alwa-always been very, very blunt."

She scoffed and took a sip of her water; "Someone had to be, or else you'd still be blushing like a fool and staring at my breasts like you were that night in Firenze and we wouldn't have any children at all…"

Claudia cackled and Giovanni blanched the color of fine wine.

Federico and Petruccio gaped at her and she just blinked as if to say; _'You thought you got it from him?'_

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Altair declined the black government sedan and took a taxi home.

The streets were moderately quiet, and rain started to fall about halfway between the airport and Malik's print shop.

By the time he made it back it was a preverbal downpour.

The front of the shop looked exactly the same save it appeared Malik had touched up the paint around the door and big front window. It seemed a brighter shade of green against the tan brick.

He'd just opened the trunk to get his things when the door opened and a familiar figure walked out in a black wool coat, carrying a large umbrella.

"What the hell happened to you!" Altair chuckled under his breath when he realized why Malik looked so different.

"Gadil asked what I looked like without facial hair, and as you can see, this is the result." He was practically pouting.

Altair laughed, a high helpless sound. Even though it would only take Malik about three days to grow it back, it was still unfortunately funny.

There was a reason Malik kept that little patch of beard on his chin after all. He had inherited what Hadiya called 'Chipmunk Face'. Meaning it was very hard to take him seriously without it because you were too busy staring and thinking he looked like a five-year-old.

During their tour overseas he'd grown it to escape the nickname 'Cabbage Patch', because even though he was in uniform, even though most of the time he was armed and scowling… You just wanted to pinch his dimpled cheeks and coo at him!

"I feel like I wanna buy you a balloon or something."

Malik looked away in annoyance and tipped the umbrella so a stream of water went down the back of Altair's pants while he was digging in the trunk, smiling in a distinctly smug way when he gasped and clawed at the spot.

"PAPA! CAN WE COME HELP TOOOOOOO!"

Altair glanced up at the little faces peeking out the door, frowning and making big dark sad eyes at Malik.

It wasn't unusual that Malik had to close his eyes when they did this, because otherwise he'd end up sucked right into their pleas, agreeing to the craziest things. "No, it's raining and cold and wet and you have school tomorrow."

"?"

His eyes closed tightly; "I don't want you getting sick."

"But we want to heeeeeeeellllp!"

Blessedly Hadiya called down the stairs after them and they disappeared like smoke.

Malik grumbled and hooked Altair's duffle around his neck then shook his umbrella at the younger man. "Come on, I don't want to get sick either." And he tiptoed around the puddles on the sidewalk. "And if you do get sick I'm shipping you to your brother's for a week."

Trudging up the stairs seemed to take all of Altair's energy and he leaned against the wall at the top while Malik pushed open the security door and stepped inside, toeing off his shoes and mumbling that his pants legs were wet and it was Altair's fault, that there was only one thing worse than wet pants and that was wet socks.

"Wet underwear is worse than both." Altair said, locking the door behind himself.

"Is that a reoccurring problem for you?" Malik glanced over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth cocked upward just fractionally.

Altair gave him the finger.

Kalila and Saree shot out from behind one of the couches in Altair's waiting room/garden where they had been hiding, squealing loudly and ran up stairs.

"Did you give them sugar perhaps?" Altair disappeared into his room and grunted, pointing to his bed when Malik rolled his eyes and held out his duffle.

"Desmond gave them Easter Candy he bought on discount…" Malik sat the bag down; "You've got about fifty requests for services you know."

Altair dropped his bags and pulled open his closet, yanking a t-shirt and a pair of loose black flannel pants out of a stack of folded clothes that he remembered being in a nice untidy pile when he'd left. "You've got them separated into category don't you."

"Fifteen cheating spouses, five summons, and about thirty consults on missing persons."

Altair cursed under his breath and skinned his shirt over his head, dropping it in a wet heap on the floor.

"Oh, it gets better. Ten of them sound eerily similar to Ezio's— And did you not eat ANYTHING while you were over there? I can see your ribs!"

He shoved his jeans off and blinked up at Malik with a stern expression on his face, completely ignoring the older man's statement about his ribs; "You were snooping in my files weren't you."

Malik looked visibly affronted. "What do you take me for?"

"A man who likes to snoop in things that are none of his business."

"I am not a snoop… And you really shouldn't leave the key to your filing cabinet just laying around like that, anybody could have just come in and—"

"Lying around? Malik, it was taped to the back of my business license. It's not laying around."

"You shouldn't leave it in such an obvious place!"

"Snoop."

"Shut up."

Dressed in loose clothing Altair felt a little better. And that nice hooded sweatshirt he kept just to lounge around in was the cherry on top.

He found some dry socks and dropped onto his bed, squeezing his toes as if to ring excess water out of them before he pulled the dry pair on. Then he laid back across the bed for a few seconds with his eyes closed, just glad to be home, trying to forget everything that happened so he wouldn't have nightmares about it.

Malik seemed to appear beside him. "Come on," He nudged the bed with his knee, "Eat something then I'll leave you in peace for a week."

He sighed and levered himself up, shoulders slumped, and followed Malik from the room at a living dead pace.

Hadiya was just starting to bring in dishes from the kitchen and she smiled at them. "Go on and have a seat."

Altair dropped into his chair and only looked up when Zafir waddled up to him and started trying to climb into his lap. He leaned back to give the child room and closed his eyes, trying to re-familiarize himself with the sounds and smells around him. It felt so strange to be back in a normal environment after all he'd seen. After his world had been shaken so deeply.

What he wasn't expecting was to look up across the table at Gadil and see the boy had a glowingly dark black-eye.

"What happened?"

Gadil didn't meet his eyes, just shrugged and looked away.

Saree sighed to Altair's left. "He got in a fight at school."

Gadil glared at her angrily, but Saree only glared back and kept talking; "This boy has been picking on him for a few weeks now, calling us terrible names… Gadil called him ignorant and the boy took his glasses and broke them, so Gadil told the teacher, then after school the boy punched him in the eye."

Malik glanced up at them; "He won't let me call the boy's father either…"

"He's stupid. I don't want to sink to his level…" Gadil grumbled to the table and poked at a piece of bread his mother put on his plate.

"Don't say 'stupid', Gadil." Saree shook her head.

"Well, he is…"

Saree squared her shoulders; "I told my science teacher what was happening, and he said he would watch Gadil in the hallways and make sure the boy didn't bother him anymore."

Malik nodded; "I don't want you actively looking for a fight, especially since this boy is older than you, but I don't see the harm in learning to defend yourself."

"I don't want to fight… I'll just lose."

Hadiya put the last bowl on the table and took her seat. "There's a difference between fighting and self defense… I took a self defense class when I was in college, I can see if there is an instructor in the area still if you'd like. It could be fun."

Gadil shrugged noncommittally and picked up his fork to rake through his food a few times.

Zafir grunted in Altair's lap and made grabby hands across the table at his juice cup, making pathetic grunting sounds as if he were going to start sobbing uncontrollably. "'Lila!"

Once the cup was in his little hands he was perfectly fine once more, and Altair kept two fingers on the bottom of it to make sure he didn't end up with a lap full of juice again. It had happened a few times before he'd started paying attention.

Altair sighed and settled himself back into the white noise of dinner chatter, the rotation of kids on his knee. He picked at his food but didn't really eat, and when the dishes were cleared away he followed them without comment, not realizing he'd left his MP3 player in his bag downstairs until he was already wrist deep in bubbly hot water.

Kalila, Saree and Zafir screamed happily and ran around up stairs, feet thumping loudly, so loudly it almost sounded like a stampede above his head, water gurgled through the pipes heralding bath time, and outside it continued raining.

"Hey, push over a little."

Altair flinched at the sudden invasion of his personal space and blinked dazedly at Malik as the older man sidled up to him, scraping his sleeve against his hip until it was rolled up enough not to get wet.

"You hate doing dishes."

"I also hate squid and seeing you on the verge of collapse, but have experienced both on multiple occasions… Hadiya and the kids are upstairs, so tell me. What happened?" He rinsed what dishes were in his sink and set them in the draining rack, but didn't look Altair in the eyes. It was easier like that. Easier to pretend he wasn't paying attention, wasn't really interested. That way he could deny it if he heard Altair's breathing hitch, or saw moisture where there wasn't any before.

Altair took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh.

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"It's almost two in the morning… I've got to get some sleep." Claudia stretched, arms over her head. She stood and wrapped her arms tightly around Ezio's middle; "You just wait until we get home, Mom and me are going to take you shopping, and to lunch and we'll go see a movie and-and…" She squeezed harder, breath hitching on tears; "It's so good to have you back!"

Ezio held her for a long while, remembering her scent. Flowery, soft, innocent. Remembered getting into fights with her as a kid over really stupid things. Remembered she'd loved to pull hair and slap and scratch him, but how fiercely they loved one another at the same time.

"I love you so much, Ezio… See you in the morning, yeah?" She smiled up at him and waved as she stepped through the joining room door and shut it lightly behind her.

Federico and Katie left next, Katie insisting Ezio touch her stomach and feel the baby moving before she could leave for their room in good conscience. Federico stayed for a few seconds longer to squeeze the living daylights out of Ezio, he whispered goodnights, I love you's and hugged his parents then stepped across the hall.

Petruccio was already asleep on a rollaway bed against the far wall and Ezio eased himself onto the big bed that was to be his for the night.

Maria closed herself in the bathroom to change, and Giovanni yawned and pulled the band out of his hair long enough to roughly finger comb it. He dropped onto the opposite bed across from Ezio, their knees touching and just sat there smiling at him for a heartbeat before he spoke. "You've really grown up. When Altair called me and said he'd found you I… I was breathless." He leaned forward elbows on his knees and peered up into Ezio's face smiling. "You're home. You're really here. I… I have so much I want to say to you, I want to just-just hold on to you and not let go ever again, but—" He hesitated, hand lifting palm upward and non-threatening. "I want to know what happened to you, when you're ready to tell me. I won't ask for anything you're not ready to share… Just know that we will always be here for you, myself, your mother, your sister and brothers. We are all here for you. We all love you so-so very very much." He paused and cleared his throat, eyes dropping to the floor; "The next while is not going to be easy, I know that, we all know that. It is going to be difficult for you, but we'll help you any way we can."

Ezio nodded, still staring at his father's hand, wanting to touch it, to lay his fingers in that strong palm, but he couldn't manage to move, and inside he was shaking.

Maria came out of the bathroom a few seconds later hair pulled back into a braid wearing what looked like one of Giovanni's t-shirts, and a pair of dark blue pajama pants. "It seems I only packed half of my suit, I hope you don't mind." She pulled at the t-shirt and smiled.

Giovanni chuckled and shook his head, drawing his hand back with a saddened curling of fingers into his empty palm. He whispered something to her in Italian as he passed into the bathroom himself and shut the door behind him.

"Do you mind if I sit beside you?"

Ezio shook his head, unnerved because even though he knew it had only been his father, he'd still been hyper aware of the proximity of their bodies, of a threat to his wellbeing, even though he KNEW his father would never, NEVER hurt him.

He felt sick, disturbed maybe… Why would he think such things could happen? Think his father capable of such horrible things, even for half a second.

Maria slowly hooked her arm at Ezio's elbow and leaned her head into his shoulder. She released a long sigh, "I'm so happy you're here. That you've come back to us."

"D-did you recognize me?"

She looked up as if shocked; "Of course! Ezio, I would recognize you if you had a bag on your head and were standing in a crowd! You're my son and I love you, it's not a bond that can be broken so easily."

He nodded, calmed slightly by the statement, then nervously reached up and touched his hair. "I… I can cut this if it bothers yo—"

"Oh, but I like it! You look so handsome with it!" She smiled and lifted a hand to run over his head. "Your father looked almost exactly like you when we met! Only I think there was a little mud on his face at the time… He and Mario ran their car off the road into a ditch. I thought they'd never get it out again."

He couldn't help but grin, and then smile wider when his mother touched a finger to his chin.

"Ah, there it is! I know that smile."

Giovanni came out of the bathroom looking exhausted and ready to sleep a hundred years. He scratched himself absently through his striped pants and dropped onto his stomach on the opposite bed in a spread eagle position. He let out a groaning sound as his back popped and slowly started to straighten out, and he crossed his arms under his head, grinning out at his wife and son.

"Should we leave a light on for you?"

Ezio shook his head, and pushed himself backward to the middle of the bed, moving the blankets out of the way of his cast and watching puzzled as Maria pulled them up once he was settled, touched his cheek, his chin, his brow, pushed a few strands of hair behind his ear.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head into her caresses, focusing on them, on the familiarity, on the calming, soothing repetition.

_"I think he's asleep…"_ Giovanni's voice was barely a whisper.

Maria hummed in a satisfied, content way and after a few more passes over his hair and cheek she stood and crawled over her husband, rolling under the blankets.

Ezio laid there listening, feeling relaxed. He didn't even flinch when the light clicked off, or when he heard his parents shifting about on the bed.

They whispered back and forth, and every so often he could hear them kiss, or the blankets shift.

Petruccio grunted in his sleep and rolled over.

Outside a car horn honked, and a few blocks away a train's breaks screeched quietly on the tracks.

Behind his eyes memories came to life. Splashing in the public pool with Federico and Claudia, feeling anxious and scared for little Petruccio because he always seemed to be sick. Christmas morning, Uncle Mario showing up dressed as Santa and frightening young Claudia to tears.

Mother and Father preparing dinner every so often making silly faces at one another, laughing.

Desmond huddled against him, crying, the cut on his lips opening every time he spoke, spilling more blood down his face.

"They're looking for us, Des, it'll be OK, they'll find us!"

"Your parents might be, but my dad won't… He doesn't care about me." Blood dribbled onto his shirt. "He doesn't care about me at all."

That bald man with the laughing eyes barking and throwing dog food at them.

The first time he saw Altair, dragged in to the room and tied to a chair, limp with blood all over his face. He'd looked dead.

Rodrigo's son going off to the hospital, and hours of just sitting and waiting. Listening to Rodrigo speak in French to a man on his cell phone, saying frequently 'merchandise'. The 'merchandise' would be delivered in the morning, and there had better be the right amount this time because he wasn't fucking around. That if there was another delay he would just have to reconsider the offer he'd gotten from The Twins.

Then Altair had started singing, slurring together words that made very little sense to anybody outside his head.

Ezio had recognized the tune from a movie Federico had shown him, and he'd been comforted a little, equating the song with his family.

Everything would be OK.

But the bald man, Robert had been angry. Shouting filthy things, calling Altair a terrorist. Telling him to shut up. Hitting him…

Then Desmond was running, and he was being dragged away, twisting, fighting, biting, scratching.

Rodrigo was calm, as if he was used to it, threw him onto the jet and when he'd tried to run, Rodrigo had hit him, hard. So hard he'd seen stars and everything had gone dull and gray for a while.

Then there was HIM— and pain. Fear.

Leo was screaming, and he wasn't safe in a hotel with his family, he was in his bed and Leo was trying to keep the door closed, screaming at him to run, please run.

And he was running, thrashing, but hands were on him, pulling at his clothes, hurting—

"Ezio?"

He flinched, eyes wide, staring.

There was a little bit of light coming in around the curtains, and his father's face was vaguely surprised and concerned.

"Are you alright? You were making strange noises." His voice was a whisper.

His head was shaking, back and forth and his teeth were ground tightly together, fingers clutching grabbing at his father's arm. "Don't let me go. Please, just don't let me go…"

Giovanni turned on his knees and hissed his wife's name, startling her from slumber.

She sat up immediately, seeing where he was, "What's wrong?"

Ezio shook his head, eyes burning, body screaming in withheld panic. "I can't. I j-just have to stay here. Don't let me go."

Giovanni's brow wrinkled; "You're not making sense, take a deep breath and try again."

He tried, honestly tried, but his throat felt tight and he could feel himself slipping away, could still hear Leo screaming and fists, angry fists pounding at the door, could almost feel them on his very flesh.

"He's coming… I-I can't. I can't."

"Nobody's coming, Ezio. You're safe."

"Please, don't let him get me." And the panic broke through, choking him, stealing his air, stealing everything.

"Ezio. Ezio, listen to me, you're alright, it was just a dream. You're safe now. Nobody is going to hurt you."

His head shook back and forth, eyes wide and terribly alert, even if his mind wasn't. "I'm d-dreaming, I know I am… And i-if I close my eyes you'll go away. If I go to sleep you'll disappear."

Giovanni remembered his children having nightmares when they were young. Could remember once six-year-old Federico waking up convinced that he was dead, that he had been hung and killed. He'd been so completely convinced of it, so horribly deeply frightened he'd had a panic attack and Giovanni had been forced to take him to the hospital.

All of the nightmares and bad dreams he'd soothed, all the monsters he'd chased from under beds and out of closets couldn't compare to this. Couldn't compare to the pain he felt looking into Ezio's eyes and seeing such terror and certainty. He knew then and there Ezio had dreamed of being reunited with his family before, and woken up only to realize it hadn't been real. He knew that this must have happened so frequently it had broken part of his son to reduce him to this now.

Behind him Maria whispered his name, pleadingly, not knowing what to do.

"It'll be alright, I promise, Ezio, it'll be alright." He shifted and got his feet under him, still bent with Ezio's arms tangled around his neck, pushed the blankets out of the way, and with a soft grunt, levered his son into a sitting position, freeing his legs fro the tangle of sheets. "Come on, plenty of room, nobody will hurt you while we're here."

He supported more than half of Ezio's weight the two steps to the other bed. Pulling the blankets this way and that until the three of them were covered and his son's injured leg was supported on a pillow stuffed between them.

He appeared to shrink down to nothing there, head tucked under his father's chin, clutching possessively, pleading under his breath; "Don't let me go. Please, don't let me go."

Maria rubbed soothing circles between his shoulders and caught her husband's eyes over his head. "We're not going anywhere. I promise you, Ezio. We're right here, nothing will hurt you. Just close your eyes and listen to my voice. Nobody is going to hurt you, we won't disappear, I promise. Your father and I will be right here when you wake up."

Giovanni pressed his nose into the top of his son's head and met Maria's gaze, both of them wondering, with a sick feeling in their stomachs, exactly what tomorrow would bring.

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	18. Chapter 18

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**Chapter 18; Mysterious Ways**

Petruccio woke at nearly six AM, and upon shuffling toward the bathroom, noticed the odd sight his parents and older brother made.

Ezio slept like a dead thing, clinging to his father's shirt and his mother's hand where she'd wrapped her arm around him in the night.

It reminded Petruccio of when he'd been young, shortly after his diagnosis, and he'd slept in his parents bed for comfort. He understood completely why Ezio was there, and didn't dare disturb them. He went to the bathroom, did his business and dressed, then shuffled out into the hall to see if Federico was awake yet, he didn't expect Claudia or Katie to be awake any time soon, so Federico was his best bet for company, aside from the two stationed officers at the exits.

As if on cue, Federico came out of his room yawning and rubbing his stomach, and together, after informing the two police officers guarding the stairwell and elevator, they went down stairs to find breakfast, meeting a uniformed sergeant and the hotel manager in the lobby just as the manager was pushing a cart of breakfast foods up for them.

Federico thanked him but said he and Petruccio were going to go find something 'greasy and really not good for you' before their parents woke up.

Despite the police officer's objection, the two of them were able to slip out completely unnoticed by other uniforms or the odd photographer waiting in the parking lot.

Claudia, on the other hand, didn't particularly like being woken from her beauty sleep, but she did however like room service, so when there was a knock on her door she thought it was a fair trade.

When she opened the door she wasn't too surprised to see Federico had left. He did like to have regular breakfasts that included more calories and saturated fats than Claudia herself ate in a month, and this hotel only seemed to serve healthy dishes for breakfast. Hard boiled eggs, toast, fruit plates… She tried to ignore the sausage and bacon.

Federico had an unfairly fast metabolism, he could eat whatever he wanted and not gain a single pound… The bastard.

Katie looked positively adorable, in Claudia's opinion; sleepy, waddling around in a pair of Federico's boxers and a T-shirt with her hair in braids and her belly protruding. She and Claudia weren't the best of friends, but they got along well enough… most of the time.

Katie was a little plain for Claudia's taste, she'd always pictured her brother ending up with a supermodel that would share Claudia's passion for fashion, spa weekends and gossip. Not a short blonde with freckles, an affinity for playing in the dirt and wearing Nike tennis shoes with everything.

But, Claudia supposed, not everybody could be perfect.

Mother and father were awake when they pushed the breakfast cart into the room, mother busying herself brushing her hair while father sat on the edge of the bed examining the coffee pot and trying to figure it out. He was used to the high tech thing he'd gotten for his birthday three years ago that automatically started brewing at six-fifteen AM every morning, and didn't really remember how to make the more simplistic ones work.

And Ezio was still deeply asleep, lying on his side in a half fetal position amid a nest of blankets and pillows.

Claudia stared at him for a long few minutes while her parents and Katie quietly attacked the food. She only looked away for a moment when Mother held out a plate to her and whispered her name.

It was odd, just staring at him. He looked so similar to how she remembered him. But at the same time it was like looking at a stranger. He seemed so young lying there sleeping, so innocent and helpless almost.

"Shouldn't we wake him up?" She spoke around a slice of strawberry. "Father might eat all the eggs and bacon."

Mother shook her head and spoke in hushed Italian; _"He had a long day yesterday and needs his sleep, let him be. Besides, a home cooked meal will do him good."_

Giovanni gave his daughter a gentle but meaningful look that said they would talk later, and turned back to his food.

The air seemed slightly thick with tension but Claudia gave herself a shake and tried to ignore it, instead striking up a quiet conversation with her mother and Katie about a baby shower.

Katie glanced between the two nervously and after the third time she'd declined politely and they kept talking as if they hadn't heard her, she decided the best course of action was to just smile and nod. She'd come to understand that the stubbornness of Auditore men was only rivaled by that of its women.

Giovanni just grinned at her knowingly and returned his eyes to his plate.

Ezio woke not long after that, quietly, eyes cracking open to peer out reassuring himself that he was in fact, in a hotel room. That he was truly safe with his family.

He just lay there for a while, watching his mother and sister chatting, listening while his father and Katie spoke off and on.

It was obvious, to Ezio at least, that his father felt uncomfortable around the blonde. He was sitting unnaturally hunched and seemed to only look into her eyes when she said something funny and he couldn't help but laugh.

He dozed, letting himself sink into the familiar voices, the security that seemed to cocoon him. It had been a long, long time since he'd felt safe. Such a long time he'd started to doubt that he'd ever felt it in the first place.

"Ezio, if you want some of this bacon tell me, or else your father may eat it all." Maria swatted her husband's hand as he reached for another helping.

He didn't let himself move, a jolt of excitement tensing his stomach. He remembered thinking as a child that his mother had to be psychic, because there was no way anyone could tell he'd been faking sleep. He'd even once told Desmond his mother was a trained spy and she had a radio implanted in her head that picked up on the thoughts of those around her.

Desmond had lined his jacket hood with aluminum foil for a week before Federico had finally had enough and laughingly told the younger boy Ezio had lied to scare him.

Now though, those same thoughts returned, and he pushed the blankets back far enough to peer out at his mother with owlish eyes.

She smiled at him; "There you are. Care to join us?" Her fingers came down with a sharp sound on Giovanni's other wrist as he tried to reach around her.

While his father rubbed the sting from his hand Ezio sat carefully up, taking a few seconds to untangle himself from the sheets, and scooted down the bed to sit between his mother and sister.

Claudia pushed a plate toward him and scooped some fruit onto it. "Start light and work up to it if you're not very hungry yet… Should we save some for Federico and Petruccio?"

Maria narrowed her eyes in irritation at their mere mention. "Where _are_ the boys?"

"They went to get deep fried bacon and Twinkies I think." Katie said, this being the first time that she'd actually said much of anything that morning.

"They'll end up with arteries like fat old men if they aren't more careful... No, don't save them anything."

"Or they'll end up as fat old men."

"Petruccio knows better. I don't know what's gotten into him."

"He's a teenaged boy, he's growing, he needs lots of calories, lots of energy," Giovanni pushed one of the untaken covered plates toward Katie. "So do you."

Ezio felt himself grinning, mostly because of the utter absurdity of it. Not two weeks before he hadn't known where his next meal would come from, let alone what he would have to do to get it. And now here he was sitting in an expensive hotel room with his family, eating more food than he usually got in a week.

The strawberries were sweet, the melon and grapes and star fruit slices were perfect.

He caught himself twice slipping grapes into the pockets of his pants, and flushed vivid crimson when he realized his father had noticed and was gazing at him with a puzzled expression on his face.

He contemplated slipping them back onto his plate and apologizing, but couldn't bring himself to give up what instinct told him may have to last days. His chest ached.

Giovanni cleared his throat, not loud enough to interrupt the female chatter, but loud enough that Ezio felt as if the sound was just for him. A precursor, a warning that there would be trouble for his rudeness… But as Ezio watched his father's face changed slightly, a sly, mischievous glimmer in his eye, and carefully, with only his fingertips and a little sleight of hand he used to make coins disappear and reappear behind ears, he slid a slice of toast and a few strips of bacon into his napkin, and slipped it unnoticed from the table.

It was— Ezio wasn't sure what the word was. Relief? Reassuring? Confirming? He didn't know. Maybe it was a little of all three, maybe more. But the pain in his chest eased, and he released pent up breath he hadn't known he'd been holding and returned to his meal.

About thirty minutes later, while Claudia and Maria were discussing where to take Ezio shopping, since he only had two outfits, and both women agreed that khakis and plain cotton shirts did nothing for him, Petruccio and Federico tried to discretely creep back into the room.

Too bad Federico had a little paper bag filled with deep fried Oreos and Maria Auditore could smell saturated fats from fifty yards.

Maria smiled at them as they slipped in. A somehow pleasantly reproachful smile. "Maybe you would like to join us?"

Federico froze, like a deer in headlights, a half eaten cookie poised between his teeth. "For what?" it came out more like a grunt.

"Claudia and I are going to take Ezio shopping Saturday afternoon. He needs a few, more appropriate outfits."

Federico's eyebrow cocked upward in a somehow sarcastic manner and Petruccio worried that maybe Ezio may come back looking like a model from the GAP, or someone from Zoolander…

She tugged gently on Ezio's shirt sleeve. "It's much too plain… He needs some color." When she got no response from her eldest she scowled slightly. "What do you think?" Maria turned to her husband, finger on her chin.

Giovanni, who had been going through his luggage looking for a pair of socks, blinked at her for a few seconds; "I think he looks good in white."

"A few sweaters, or a vest would be quite becoming. We will stop by that tailor of yours, Giovanni." She measured the width of Ezio's shoulders with her eyes. "He's just a little smaller than you… We'll make it work. Claudia and I will need some help, F—"

"I have to help father write a press release for that Potluck-Press Conference the Chief of Police invited us to… And there is a lot of paperwork—"

"Petruccio?"

"I could go on Friday, but I have a ton of homework as it is from missing so many days, I already told Eli to bring over my work after school."

Claudia cooed at him and Petruccio crossed his arms tightly, scowling into the corner.

Maria sighed in irritation.

"You can ask Katie, she'd probably love to go."

"She's seven months pregnant, Federico, we'd be shopping all day… And not to offend to your fiancé—"

"She's not my fiancé."

Claudia raised her hands innocently; "I'm just saying, no offence to her, but she has absolutely no fashion sense whatsoever."

"Claudia." He scowled at her warningly.

Her hands came up again and she turned away from him.

"We will ask her, and if she wants to go, that's fine. If not we will just go ourselves." Maria narrowed her eyes at her daughter. "Though, from my own experience, at seven months I just wanted to sit on the couch and read."

Giovanni snorted and looked over at her lovingly; "If I remember correctly you also enjoyed spending hours in the ocean because it took the weight off your back… You looked so adorable." He framed her face with his hands and touched the end of his nose to hers.

And Federico's eyes lit up. "The hotel has a pool, right?"

Fifteen minutes later Claudia was grumbling bitterly that she wouldn't be 'swimsuit ready' until July, and sat with her feet in the water by the side of the pool watching with jealous eyes as Katie waded in, wearing a bikini top and a pair of Federico's swimming trunks.

"Nobody cares if a pregnant woman goes swimming, but if I show up in my bathing suit and there's even the slightest bit of pudge I'm a whale." She propped her chin on her fist. "Maybe I should just tell everyone I'm pregnant so I don't have to diet so much—"

Giovanni put a hand over his heart and slumped in his chair; "Don't say that… Don't ever let me hear you say that!" He made a noise as if he might faint and Maria patted his arm, scribbling notes in a leather bound book she had on the table beside her.

Ezio only then started to lament the cast on his leg. Even the black and colorful scribbled letters where Desmond had signed it and his family had drawn cute little cartoons and stick figures. It wasn't so much that he wanted to go swimming, more that it was his family and he wanted to be everywhere at once. Wanted to submerge himself in everything he'd lost and never come up again.

He settled on sitting with his parents and carrying a quilt like running dialogue with everyone.

Petruccio was telling him about school while he floated on his back or alternately swam laps.

Federico was filling him in on new movies he would have the 'supreme pleasure' of watching when they were home.

Claudia was going on and on about her friends and the socialite scene. The vacation she had planned with a few of them to the Bahamas. "White sand, blue water, sunshine… Scantily clad local men… Mmmmm."

Giovanni covered his face; "Please, do I not have enough gray hairs as it is?"

Maria cooed and patted his head; "She's an adult, she does adult things… Safely, I hope." She gave Claudia a critical look then muttered under her breath in Italian. _"It's bad enough Federico is in this position, don't you go making grandparents out of us too."_

Ezio stifled a laugh when his father bowed his head into the tabletop cradling his ears.

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Shopping with Claudia and Mama on Saturday was not at all what Ezio expected.

He remembered shopping malls and department stores vaguely from his childhood, but he'd spent the last nine years doing all his shopping out of loud, festive market places, or rummaging through boxes of clothes he and the others shared, old sometimes torn things supplied by the Boss, or on the odd occasion sharing clothes Leo had found. A pair of jeans, shoes he had to squeeze his feet into, t-shirts that were just a little too short, jackets left by tourists in odd places.

It had been about three years since he'd owned something new. Something nobody before him had worn that was not made by hand from old curtains or a length of cloth found dropped in the street.

He looked slightly absurd on crutches having to sometimes physically wrestle slacks or jeans over his cast, or study the closures for a moment before he remembered how they worked.

It was so much colder in Chicago than Morocco. He'd borrowed one of Petruccio's thick hoodies so he didn't shiver as badly while he, Mama and Claudia left the hotel on Saturday morning.

The sun had only just risen and stores were slowly coming to life around them.

Security wasn't as tight as it had been before, the uniformed police officers stood guard at the doors, but there were only three photographers, and barely any fuss. The cab driver smiled but didn't seem to think there was anything special about them.

He insisted that he could walk around and constantly hailing taxis wasn't necessary, that he felt more comfortable walking anyway and they'd set off on foot.

The morning went by quickly. Quiet laughter and wading through racks and displays of clothes and shoes, having to hold his breath and try not to throw a punch at sales associates that seemed to pop up out of nowhere like ghosts. Or shove the tailor away from him as the man tried to take his measurements.

It was only after he had started visibly shaking and sweating that the tailor took a step backward and whispered to Maria that perhaps it would be best if they came back when Ezio was less nervous but until that time he could mesh Giovanni's and Petruccio's measurements and that should work, since they were all so similar in size.

Leaving the building Ezio found himself walking with his face turned to the sky, Mama's hand on his elbow a silent, reassuring guide as they took to the streets.

The sky looked so different. The buildings strange and angular, terribly unattractive in his eyes. Every so often there was one building that looked interesting, but on average they were all just shiny and mirror like. Reflecting the sky and other buildings like a kaleidoscope.

Very distracting.

The stores were all very clean. Quiet with softly playing instrumentals in the background. It was stifling. He missed the sound, the feeling of life in everything. The friendly people, even the not so friendly people who wanted to pay him for favors.

He fell into a role as he walked. Catching each eye that passed his way, trying to look unthreatening. Feeling a sick shivering sensation build under his skin every time a man looked at him or passed too close. He became hyper aware of them, analyzing them, the way they looked at him, and interacted with the world. Sizing them up.

_He has large hands, they would wrap completely around my wrists, my throat. I can see the outline of him through his jeans… would he be gentle? Or would he make me bleed…_

He caught himself staring and tried to shift his gaze slightly to one side or another, to make his mother or sister think he wasn't. Tried to throw off their suspicions by mentioning that he liked that man's shirt or shoes, not that he'd been imagining what preferences that man would have. If he would hurt him and how much he could take before he disgraced himself and cried out.

Ezio wasn't sure how many men he'd discovered had the intent to hurt him by the time his mother and sister had decided that since the bags were getting quite heavy, that he had enough clothing to do until his cast came off and started a march up the street to a bistro for lunch. But every step he took felt harder and harder to take, he just knew that if he didn't get off the street at that moment that something bad was going to happen.

If he didn't get someplace quiet, well secluded, where he could see everything. Someplace hidden in plain sight, he would be caught, he would be hurt, and he would be taken back to HIM.

"Ezio, do you want to eat at the Bistro, or order something back to the hotel?" Mama gave his arm a little shake.

He shivered and looked around quickly, noting exits, alleyways, fire escapes, open doors. Places he could hide and find shelter in.

He knew he was shaking. Knew he was staring, knew he was being watched.

"Ezio, are you OK?" Claudia's hand was gentle on his other elbow. "Would you like to sit down?"

Three days had not been enough. Three days wasn't nearly enough… He couldn't be taken back now. Please, not now!

"Mama, what's wrong with him?"

Cool hands on his face, pressure, and suddenly he was staring into his mother's eyes.

"Ezio, where would you feel safe right now? Inside?"

He didn't know he was nodding, just knew his mother's face was bobbing up and down and his vision was swimming.

"Alright."

Simple.

Maria gave a curt nod and steered him to the right, through a shop door, bell ringing over his head.

There was music. Not the soft pretentious music like in the department stores Mama and Claudia had dragged him into, this music was louder, with actual words not clarinet solos and electronic violins, the girl behind the counter had green hair and a nose ring.

She smiled politely over the top of her Rolling Stone and offered a good afternoon and a 'can I help you find anything?'

"No, no, just looking, thank you." Mama smiled in her general direction.

The inside of the shop was colorful and uncluttered, bins and shelves of music and music paraphernalia. T-shirts, jackets, posters, CDs, sheet music, music videos, bobble head dolls of famous rock bands.

They shuffled back and forth, pausing every so often when something caught Ezio's eye, breathing, watching people pass by the big front windows. Removing himself from the movement and the threat of so many people pushing and crowding.

He didn't feel particularly safe here, but he could breathe, the few people in the shop weren't looking at him, there was no immediate threat.

"Do you like music, Ezio?" Mama was looking at him curiously with a little smile on her face, trying to distract him, glad he'd calmed down enough that she was able to get him to focus on something else.

Ezio shrugged. Leo had gone for about six months thinking he would become a great composer and had had music playing every second of every day. A different kind every week it seemed, he would sing and dance around while he painted. And tried to teach himself to read music, which really didn't turn out that well.

Rosa liked the local pop music and Paola had enjoyed Spanish tango and classical dancing tunes.

"I don't know… I suppose." He picked up another CD and flipped it over, reading the tracks listing just to have something to do with his hands other than gripping his crutches tight enough to make his fingers ache.

"Petruccio would probably like to come here with you, he adores music… Well, if you call all that loud banging and roaring _music…_ You should see his bedroom walls_. Dio mio_… He would probably fall in love with this place." She put a hand to her face and looked around with a hopeless expression.

He browsed around for a few more minutes, using the bins and pictures as a distraction, trying to make his mother and sister think he was interested in what was before him and not that he was on the verge of panic. He did, however, end up finding two CDs from bands he recognized, and by that time felt brave enough to venture outside again… Mostly from the prompting of his growling stomach and the reaffirming knowledge that if he was hungry, he could eat. He didn't have to ask for permission or worry someone would take it from him, or that he would have to horde back what he could get lest he couldn't afford any more for a while.

The uncertainty was still there, but before they'd left the hotel Mother, at Father's prompting, had taken him to the lobby and given him a few crisp clean dollar bills to get snacks from a vending machine to line his pockets with, as reassurance that there _is _food and nobody would take it from him.

Lunch, though, was not at the bistro.

Half a block away from the music store a familiar voice called out to them above the clamor of the street.

"Mrs. Auditore! Ezio! HEY! OVER HERE!"

His stomach tightened and his head snapped up, scanning the crowd, and there he was, arms waving over his head as he lumbered up to them.

Maria laughed and was subsequently crushed in a hug when he darted through the crowd and latched onto her. "What are you doing here? I thought you lived across town now!" She pinched Desmond's cheek.

He rubbed the spot and gave Ezio a loose hug, standing a respectful arms length away. "I'm actually supposed to meet a… a friend—" he said the word 'friend' through gritted teeth and Maria could instantly tell that he was using the term to be polite, not that he considered this person a friend. "He's got this class thing and needs some help, we were going to have burgers and then meet up with Altair."

Ezio's ears perked up.

"You're all welcome to join us for lunch if you want. My treat." He was smiling broadly. "Besides, Ezio and I didn't have much time the other day to catch up. I'd be really grateful."

He looked like one of those sad puppies from the ASPCA commercials.

And that little orange sticker in the back glass of Maria's Lexus was all the evidence anybody would need that she couldn't say no to those kinds of faces.

The burger joint was fairly crowded but Desmond's 'friend' was already there slouched in a booth seat with a terribly unhappy look on his face.

Claudia blushed crimson because she recognized that throbbing vein and that aggravated scowl anywhere.

"Shaun, this is—"

He sighed weightily; "We've met."

_"Ezio… That's the guy I was telling you about…"_ Claudia hissed into his ear.

Desmond leaned himself over the back of the booth seat, getting into Shaun's face. "How'd you meet them already? Or are you just being rude."

Shaun tried to hide behind his hand, as if thoroughly embarrassed to be seen anywhere near Desmond. "Elizabeth's friends with the little one." He ground the words out between his teeth. "Now, please, can we get _on_ with this?"

Desmond shrugged; "You want a burger? They've got really good Quarter Pounders here."

Shaun turned positively green. "I don't eat meat you moron… I've told you that six times before."

He snapped his fingers and pointed; "Right, right, you're Vegan."

"No, I'm vegetarian. There's a difference."

"What difference? You eat nothing but rabbit food."

"Vegans don't eat cheese or dairy products or use anything that is a byproduct of animals." Shaun muttered something that sounded like; 'Stupid bastard'.

Desmond made an 'Ah-HA!' noise and pointed at the Brit's sweater; "That's wool!"

"I'm not VEGAN!"

Desmond made a rude farting noise between his lips and rocked back to his feet; "Whatever." He turned around and motioned toward the front of the restaurant; "Okay, food! I'm fuuu—freakin' starved."

Claudia giggled.

Ezio watched with muted interest as Desmond ordered the food, turning every so often to ask what Maria or Claudia wanted, asking if Ezio could eat American food yet, because he knew that sometimes it was harder to digest than other food and he didn't want him getting the shiiii—the you knows…

Claudia and Maria both got large salads, Ezio settled on chicken, and Desmond got two Big Mac's and a double order of fries… Then as an afterthought, got a couple apple pies that he could stick in his pockets to have for later.

"You eat like Federico and Petruccio… How do you stay so thin with all those calories!" Claudia was practically pouting.

_"It takes so much more effort for his brain to work he needs the extra fuel."_ Shaun's Italian was almost impeccable.

Desmond whined loudly around a mouthful of food. "AW! Come on! I know you're only doing it so you can talk about me!"

Shaun picked quietly at the carton of fries Desmond had pushed at him. "What makes you think that?"

He bowed his head in displeasure, whipping at a splotch of ketchup on his shirtfront. "Cause I do the same thing with Altair about you, that's why!"

Shaun growled threateningly and whispered toward Maria; _"You knew him when he was young, correct? Was he always this irritating?"_

_"I think it started with puberty…"_

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	19. Chapter 19

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**Chapter 19; Back to the Grind**

Altair didn't get his week of hiding under the blankets. A fact he only half way resented.

Instead, the day after his return, via phone and emails, he was introduced to ten families. All of them well off families with good educations. Happy families torn apart because a daughter or son had been abruptly kidnapped, taken in pairs of twos. The demands had been the same. One million dollars, and then once the money had been delivered, it had become one million each, and the children had never been seen or heard from again.

Two girls, thirteen years old, friends and rivals on the school cheerleading squad in Connecticut taken during a basketball game, fifteen years ago.

A brother and sister kidnapped during recess from their private school in New York, age nine, twelve years ago.

Four boys, ages seven, ten, twelve and thirteen taken two weeks apart, two in Arlington Virginia, two in DC, ten years ago.

And two boys, ages three and twenty months taken from a daycare in Chicago nine years ago. Two months before Ezio and Desmond had been kidnapped.

Altair, in what he could only describe as a fit of rage, called the prison, but Rodrigo's son was in solitary confinement, and his father had taken a vow of silence, having found God, or so he'd said last time he'd spoken to anyone two years before.

Altair wanted to bash his face in with a tire iron, so he did the next best thing.

He took out that little box of knives he'd bought at the market in Morocco, pinned up an old news paper photo and started chucking the blades at his dart board.

He found he rather liked the knives after all. They had excellent weight distribution and felt familiar in his hands.

Friday evening he got a call from Desmond, he could barely understand him over the sound of party music and laughing drunken co-eds.

"I thought I told you no drinking. You're not twenty-one yet."

"I'm the designated driver, HA!"

He wanted to roll his eyes back in his head and groan like a zombie. The thought of Desmond driving was even more frightening than the thoughts of him being drunk. "What do you want then, I'm busy."

He hadn't really been busy he'd been halfheartedly watching a porno that wasn't really holding his attention. He was having trouble even interesting himself in sex. Even if it was only to release some stress so he could sleep.

He kept thinking of Ezio and how badly the young man had been beaten up when he'd found him. The marks on his lower body and wrists evidence that he'd had a rather violent 'customer' barely six hours before Altair had walked in on him in Teodora's convent.

He clicked off the TV and slouched a little lower on his couch.

"You remember my bastard of a lit partner?"

"The one who lied to you about the test?"

"Yeah, well, he has this class, the one you got me out of because I'm you're assistant?"

"Yeeeeaaaah?"

"Well, he's failing it. MISERABLY, and I was wondering… Since I'm gonna be taking my test and all… And he only needs this one class—"

"That class equates to four months… Des—"

"I know, but I'm tired of listening to the bastard bitch and blame me for it! It's not my fault he's failing!"

Altair rubbed his face. "Why are you trying to help him if he's such a bastard?"

"Cause then he'd owe me, and I could finally make him stop calling me gay."

"Punch him in the face and he'll stop."

"He wears glasses, Altair, I'm not punching a guy who wears glasses… That and I don't want to get kicked out… I've only got to the end of the semester."

Altair wanted to moan. "Desmond, I really—"

"You don't have to paaaaay him!" He practically sang it.

And that made Altair pause.

Desmond wasn't necessarily 'paid' for being his assistant… But he was getting almost a thousand bucks a year from Altair to help pay for college and rent. Mostly because Altair thought that it was just shitty luck Desmond hadn't gotten a better Pell Grant and he felt kind of guilty taking checks from Giovanni Auditore every month. Add onto that the job experience which, like he'd said, got him out of taking certain classes to get his License.

Despite the fact business wasn't really booming, Desmond was kind of handy to have around.

"I swear, if you two bitch like you do in class while I'm around I'll make you fight it out—And I'm not kidding, I'll give you both a knife and take you out back, understand?"

"Yes, sir!"

Altair hung up on him just because he was irritated.

He didn't really sleep that night, sick with worry over Sunday's Barbecue Picnic and having to face his father after ten years. And when he did sleep he dreamed warped terrible things, relived his tour over seas, the fiasco that followed. His discharge and subsequent booting from the only real family he'd ever known.

He spent most of the night just lying in bed staring out at nothing.

And it wasn't any better the next day. Walker came over just before noon. He didn't enter the building, but stood on the sidewalk beside his car with Altair and talked for almost an hour. Mostly about bullshit. The bullshit was nice. Gave him a distraction from everything so he didn't have time to think.

But then the conversation strayed to Ezio and Altair found himself carefully picking through the whole ordeal again. Leaving out the parts where his balls had almost been crushed under Paola's heel, or that he'd practically stayed every second by Ezio's bedside in the hospital. Walker didn't need to know those things.

He did, however, mention Leo, and that the young man may be of some help. He seemed terribly knowledgeable of the 'Underground' in Morrocco and Spain, having lived in it since he was nine years old. If Leo couldn't help, Altair was willing to bet he could find someone who could.

Walker scribbled his name on a notepad in his pocket and they stood a few moments in awkward silence.

Altair scuffed his shoe against the sidewalk and opened his mouth to make some excuse or another that he had to go back upstairs, praying he could hide in his bed, maybe swallow a couple sleeping pills and be unconscious for the next three days so he didn't have to see his father at all. But Walker spoke first, lifting a finger to waggle like an exclamation point.

"Oh, I found you a date for Dad's barbecue… And don't worry, the old man'll approve."

He felt heat rise to his face.

The last time he'd let anyone set him up with somebody he'd wound up being an usher at her and Walker's wedding.

"Is she anything like Sharon?"

"Sharon called her a rude she-male and refuses to come see me at the precinct because of her."

"Oh, so I might actually like her. What's she look like?"

Walker chuckled and patted his jacket down for a pack of cigarettes. "You've met her, in fact, I think you pitched a tent in her presence when I introduced you."

Altair tugged his hood lower over his face and tried not to let on that the preverbal 'tent' had actually been for the woman's HEAT packing partner… "That Thorpe woman?"

"See, I knew you'd guess!" Walker chuckled darkly and slapped him on the shoulder. "And, uh—I know how much you like pissing the old man off and all, but can you dress incognito? Chris says the Mayor may be there."

"This isn't going to be one of dad's publicity stunts is it? Because if I see one goddamned camera or someone starts asking me about this shit I'm—"

"Gonna go hide on the roof again?"

His hands balled into fists.

"You might as well face it, guy. Someone is gonna bring it up and you're gonna have to make a formal statement or some shit to appease everyone." He gave up looking for his cigarettes and made a hand gesture as if presenting a box. "Here's the deal, OK? He's only asking you back because you're some kind of fuckin' hero now and he wants to look good. Wants the family name plastered on the front page, yeah?" He shoved his hands into his pocket and glanced around as if expecting someone to be watching him, or perhaps he was pretending to do his job so he could excuse standing there talking when he should have been on patrol. "It's nothin' personal, that's just how he is."

"So, it's OK when I succeed, but when I fuck up I'm shit out of luck?"

"Basically." He grinned in a very weasel like way with his eyes squinted. "Don't let it bother you, when Ray dropped out of law school he didn't talk to him for six months, then when he opened that bakery and the cash started pouring in he was all chummy again—"

"You're not making me feel any better. I finally got to the point that I didn't give a fuck what he thought of me and now you're here and he's talking to me again… This is bullshit. If I'm not good enough for him the other ninety-percent of the time then why the hell do I care about it now?" He scrubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand.

Walker was still grinning.

"You're an asshole, and he's an asshole, I don't need either of you…" Altair turned to walk away, shaking his head.

"So I should tell Thorpe you're not coming?"

He paused in his tracks, "I didn't say that."

"Ah, so you're just a masochist."

"If he says one thing about it— one fucking thing, Walker, I'm leaving. Got it?"

"Sure, whatever you say."

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_Short chapter, I know… ON TO THE NEXT!_

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	20. Chapter 20

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**Chapter 20; Life Sucks**

"Altair?"

That annoying talking woodpecker was back again.

"Altair, open the door."

"I thought you said you would give me a week?"

"Well I wasn't expecting to catch the mother of all colds while helping you carry your shit in from down stairs!"

Altair sat up and stared miserably at his feet for a few seconds. "What do you want?"

"Its half past ten, don't you have to go to that thing your father planned in about two hours?"

He levered himself out of bed, shuffling to the door and cracking it open, staring down at Malik.

His face looked puffy and there were tissues sticking out of the pocket of his sweats. Other than that he looked fine, but then again Malik was stubborn and plainly ornery enough to growl at certain symptoms of illness and scare them away like flighty little children. "Walker said you're not to dress like a lunatic again—"

"I've never dressed like a lunatic."

"You wore a skirt to your eighteenth birthday party."

"It was a kilt."

"You're not Scottish, and if I remember correctly, it was lacy and you'd borrowed it from your sister." He pulled a tissue from his pocket and rubbed his nose. "Now let me in, I refuse to let you leave this building looking like an escapee from the funny farm! Your brother already thinks I'm insane for having you here, I don't need y-your—" He sneezed, groaned and pushed himself into the room.

"What do you care what my brother thinks of you? You're not related to him… Technically neither am I, so what does it matter!" He shuffled back toward the bed and stood there with his arms crossed.

"I have a certain image to uphold, and if people see you walking out of here dressed like a madman it reflects on me… That and I'm just barely holding onto the hope that maybe this woman he's set you up with will meet whatever twisted standards you have and you'll get married and move_ away!_ And I refuse to let you ruin it by acting like an idiot!"

"I thought you enjoyed my company?" He followed the shorter man to his closet and started picking through his clothes, flinching and jerking his hand back when Malik slapped his fingers for pulling out a pair of obscenely tight pants.

"Not when you're acting stupid." He glared.

"So you're going to pick my clothes, Mom?"

Malik grumbled under his breath and shoved Altair aside. He pulled down a pair of slacks and tossed them over Altair's head. "Out of the two of us I'm actually surprised I would have better taste than you."

"You're making generalizations again… Just let me do this myself, I'm not a child, I can choose my own clothing."

Malik glared at him from the corner of his eye, then seemed to grab a fistful of hangers and shove half of Altair's wardrobe to the left out of his reach.

Altair felt his face go violently red.

Malik blinked, and reached for a chunk of clothes that consisted mostly of leather and shirts with holes or rude silk screens. "W-what is all this!" He groped at a strap studded with sharp shiny spikes and gave a visible shudder, stepping backward with his fingers curled in disgust. "If you have assless chaps I'm going to kill you in your sleep."

"No… I can honestly say I no longer have assless chaps."

"'No longer'?"

Altair only had to say two words, in a sigh of disappointment. "Coffee table."

Malik's face went a little green and he turned away long enough to wipe his nose again. "There's something wrong with you."

"Yeah, but it felt good." He stepped backward grinning and dropped onto his bed with his arms out to his sides. "Damned good."

Malik grunted and started uneasily picking through the more appropriate clothes.

"You should try it, I bet Hadiya would enjoy—"

"Don't be ridiculous," His face had gone pink. "Our sex life is perfectly fine the way it is."

"—I know a few websites that ship in discrete packages so nobody would kn—"

"I am NOT a deviant! You keep your kinky SD BM bullshit to yourself!"

"SD BM? W-what the hell are you talking about!" Altair had to choke down laughter or risk Malik tackling him.

Malik glared at him warningly; "Hadiya and I have no interest in your unnatural mating practices!"

"Mating practices? Malik, it's not a nature special! It's just sex… Fantastic, kinky sex."

"I have children in this house. I asked you respectfully when Hadiya got pregnant the first time to please, PLEASE not do this stuff where they could see or hear it! It's unnatural—"

"There's nothing unnatural about wanting to be tied up and ravished from all directions at once."

"Does this concern the Dominatrix and the Taxi driver I overheard Desmond mumbling about? Or are you thinking about trying your hand at erotic fiction?"

Altair crossed his arms high over his chest and blanched the color of new brick.

After an insufferable few minutes of Malik silently gloating, the shorter man threw a shirt at him then sneezed into his elbow four times in a row. He growled and stomped from the room grumbling bitterly about mucus and the hell that was the common cold. "And don't even think about sneaking out of here in something disturbing before I come back!"

"Malik, I'm twenty-nine years old, if I want to wear bondage-gear to piss off my father I will!"

"You'd better be glad Hadiya took the children to see her parents! I'd hate for them to see me kick your ass!" Malik shouted as he climbed the stairs.

"You couldn't if you tried…" He whispered, so Malik couldn't hear him, then rolled onto his stomach and hid his head under a pillow. After a few seconds he sat up and blinked innocently then rolled quickly to his feet and padded to his dresser, pulled open the top drawer and began rummaging in the mess of socks and boxer briefs almost desperately, glancing toward the door and straining his ears incase Malik actually found his cold pills and got the bottle open. He usually released a little demonic cheer when he managed it.

Bottle lids weren't really a problem for him, unless they were childproof. Hadiya and Gadil seemed to be the only two out of all of them, Altair included, who could get childproof lids opened every time.

Altair was starting to think he'd have to empty the drawer on the floor to find what he was looking for, but finally he saw a flash of red and his fingers seized on it, shutting the drawer and padding quickly across the room, looping the thin leather around his throat and fastening it. And he only managed to throw himself across his bed again before Malik stomped back down stairs looking sour.

"I'm old enough to dress myself."

"Yes, but I promised your brother I would make sure you left the house looking halfway normal. He doesn't want you scaring off this woman just to make your father angry."

"He doesn't care. You and my father seem to be the only ones who give a shit about my 'deviant mating practices'." He rolled out of bed and stomped to the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it behind him.

"You're acting like a child."

"I'm angry."

"Why? Because I don't want you looking like an idiot?"

"No, I'm angry that nobody else thinks I_ should_ be angry that you and he seem to think this is some kind of fad I'll grow out of or get bored with."

Malik let out a sigh, cursing under his breath. "Altair, I refuse to argue with a bathroom door. We're both adults, I've seen, and helped you do insane things since you were twelve and got your first erection watching the high school boy's swim team practice!" He was oddly satisfied when he heard Altair choke on his toothbrush. "I knew about your preferences before you did, they don't bother me… What bothers me is the fact you'd wear something like that to a public function just to make your father angry, when in all actuality, all you're doing is making yourself look like a pervert! It was fine when we were young and stupid, it's fine to do in private, but you have to THINK now. You've got a very fine line to walk until the media gets tired of this, you can't do things just to 'make the old man mad'."

It was quiet for a few seconds and Malik was beginning to think Altair was just going to remain silent to spite him, but then the door cracked open and the taller man stood there with his head bowed wearing only his underwear and a bright red leather collar.

"I'm not a pervert…"

"No, you're not. So, just—Just pick something that doesn't make you look like one." He fumbled for a tissue and wiped his nose, made a disgusted noise and shuffled away. "If you hear a crashing noise it's just me smashing open that damned pill bottle."

"Have fun."

He got a zombie like groan in return.

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Altair took the train across town, then hoofed it across four blocks of rooftops before he scared the shit out of some pigeons and nearly fell five stories to his death. He walked the rest of the way, backpack heavy across his shoulders, MP3 player droning quietly while he mentally psyched himself up. The closer to his father's house he got the more anxious he felt.

He would never admit it aloud, or to anyone at all, but he was nervous as hell. His stomach boiling as he tried to plan how he would answer questions. How, if the old man made a snide comment, or tried to tell him one more time that he'd 'get over' the whole thing soon and settle down with a nice girl and have a family of his own, he'd let him have it.

He planned how he would just straight out tell his father that it wasn't a choice, or a cry for attention, that this was who he was and if the white haired old fool couldn't handle that, then it was his own loss.

He tried to plan how he would respond now that he better understood why Malik and Walker had been pestering him to dress normally. He couldn't shout, couldn't laugh and tell the old man he was a bastard for kicking him out when he needed the support of his family the most. He had to put aside his anger and just do what had to be done.

And after it was over, if Sergeant Thorpe was so inclined, he had a whole collection of dirty secrets he'd be willing to share if she played his kind of game.

He scrubbed his scalp with rigid fingers. "Shit… I really am a pervert."

And he suddenly found himself standing outside his father's house, staring up the stairs at the brick and whitewash, that arterial red door and the expensive silk flag hanging in the window.

But that wasn't bad enough, there were people on the porch and he could smell meat smoking in the twelve, by twelve back yard.

"Well, look at that!" Two nearly identical heads tilted and Altair felt himself being drawn in like a tractor beam.

Somewhere in his head a little Captain Kirk was shouting 'ABORT ABORT ABORT!' but he was already taking the steps slowly, hitching his pack higher on his shoulder and grinning awkwardly from under his hood. "Hey, guys."

Altair's thirty-one-year-old twin adoptive brothers Raymond and Charles, were standing beside one another, seeming to move as one entity, like the creepy dead twins from The Shining.

Ray had dropped out of law school three years before to start his own bakery, and Charles, being the wiz with numbers that he was, had become family accountant.

The most unsettling thing about them though, was that they were both dating identical twin sisters and Altair had always found the way the two of them seemed to communicate in their own unique babbling language, or with mere glances across the room, terribly eerie. And now, their girlfriends had picked up on it, and looking at them all standing there, dressed in identical color coordinated outfits, Altair felt like they were aliens plotting to dissect him, or do other strange disgusting things to him.

Then the door opened and he practically jumped out of his skin, his switchblade sliding into his palm as he drew his arm back.

Other than Walker, Chris was the only one of his adoptive brothers Altair got along with.

Chris was a cop, thirty-four, still bright eyed and bushy tailed. He didn't talk much, but he had a passion for his work that most cops lacked. He also happened to stand about five feet nothing, and oddly enough, when Altair saw him standing there holding a beer and zipping up his Bears jacket, he reminded the taller man of the strange little lawyer he'd met in Morocco.

Altair told himself it was just that Chris was short and had Mother's reddish brown hair.

Chris nodded at him and jerked a thumb over his shoulder as he pulled the door shut. "I wouldn't go in there for a while, Dad's got that look in his eye again and I don't want him coming after me with a dust buster and one of his scripts."

Altair seemed to sag a little in relief and propped his hip on the concrete wall around the porch.

Off to his left the gaggle of aliens chatted quietly amongst themselves and Chris dropped into one of the rocking chairs and let his legs fall open like only a man who's satisfied that he's evaded trouble can.

"Has Walker shown up yet?"

"Nope, so far it's just us, Mom's friend Dorothy and her little bitch of a son. Walker's always got this thing about being late, so don't worry about it."

"I kind of have to, he's bringing this—"

"Yeah, he told me already, she's on her way actually, she had today off."

Altair felt his throat tighten and he turned to scan the street for her.

"Don't worry, you'll know her when you see her coming."

He grunted, trying to act as if he really wasn't that interested, and scuffed his shoe against the porch a few times. "How's mom?"

"Good, good. Dad's running her ragged as usual. 'This potato salad is too greasy!'… 'where the hell is that cheeseball, woman!'… 'You did remember to get real beer, not that imported shit, right?'"

Altair chuckled; "You're full of crap."

"Yeah, but not all of us are so blessed! Most everyone else is just full of hot air, I've actually got substance!" He belched loudly and received a swat to the back of his head as the door opened.

"Don't be rude."

She was a short woman, but despite giving birth to five children Irene had the presence of someone twice her height and size. A plump, curly haired granny with pink cheeks and sparkling eyes. Her expression changed from scolding to instantly jubilant as she turned from where Chris was rubbing the back of his head and held out her arms, cooing happily as she practically crushed Altair in a hug.

"Look at you! You've gotten so tall!" She gave his arms a squeeze and made an impressed noise in her throat. "Definitely not the boy I remember!" she pulled at his clothes, muttering appraisals like a judge at a dog show.

"You're so thin! Haven't you been eating? Look at your hair! AH! It's much too long!" Her fingers pinched his earlobes; "Thank God you took that ridiculous earring out!" Then she gave his cheek a sharp pat and scrubbed her hand against her apron; "Oh, look at you! You were so rushed you didn't even shave! I told you those digital alarm clocks were a waste of money, they never keep proper time! Go on now, SHOO! Upstairs! No son of mine is going to look like a hobo!"

Chris laughed and pointed as their mother pushed Altair into the house, both hands flat on the small of his back.

Altair had realized early in his life, after his biological mother's death, that the world was a different place than he'd thought it to be. And although his adoptive parents supported and encouraged his learning about his heritage, he'd still felt that he was two different people. He was Altair, a quiet, too serious boy with bruises on his face, shoes that didn't fit properly and a fist for everyone that came near him. Orphaned, alone and unwanted because of who his mother was and who she'd called god. Angry and resentful of the social workers and psychologists, sitting in a corner by himself staring confused at cartoons and comic books, and asking genuinely who Santa Claus was…

But he was also Al, Irene's youngest, the loudmouthed ten-year-old kid who rode his bike up and down the street fifty times a day on weekends and often crashed into mailboxes or parked cars and could be seen afterward sitting on the front stoop with a little medical tin smearing antibiotic ointment onto scrubbed knees or elbows and sticking Batman bandaids over blisters and cuts and scrapes. The twelve-year-old boy who often climbed into trees along the street and jumped off onto the shoulders of unsuspecting older brothers while they tried to woo their girlfriends, and played war in the back yard with his two school friends with water balloons and foam swords. The sixteen-year-old who wrote a five page essay on the Civil War entirely in Arabic just because he'd overheard his teacher call his friend Malik a terrible name when he kept falling asleep in class.

But now he felt split. Over the past decade, shunned by his family, he'd become someone else. Those two distinctly different people had merged into a quiet, defensive, guilt riddled man, but now the two sides of the whole were fighting for independence again. And he didn't know what to do. Didn't know who he was.

He'd been happy these past ten years… Well, no, not happy, but at least he'd been his own person. And now he felt himself falling back into routine, back into the role he'd been cast into when his parents had signed the adoption papers.

The house felt warm, inviting, like he'd never left, but at the same time he kept screaming to himself that these people had hurt him, had left him just like everybody else and they didn't deserve his time.

"Ma'… MA! I don't look like a hobo!" He stumbled up the steps brows scrunched trying to control everything he was feeling and still be able to keep his mother from sitting him down on the toilet like she did when he was younger and taking electric clippers to his head. He hadn't had hair long enough to so much as comb until he'd finished basic training with Malik and Kadar and was shipping out overseas. He remembered how much Kadar had complained about it, staring at himself in the mirror the first time the barber had gotten hold of him, his eyes teary, groping at what was left of his hair and moaning that he could see his scalp and it was so PALE!

"Here's a razor, and the foam… Now hurry up." She pushed the things toward him and started digging in the cabinet for her clippers.

"Ma, I like my hair the way it is, thank you."

"Just a trim—"

"You've already got me shaving, let me keep my hair… please."

"But it's so LONG! You look like a _girl!"_

He was bent over the sink, backpack sitting on his feet, wetting his face and trying to dodge her fingers as she tried to pull at his hair. "I don't look like a girl, it's not that long, trust me—"

She grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled it down over the top of his pants.

"MA! _Please!"_

"Nobody asked to see that. Nobody _wants_ to see that. Why didn't you wear a real shirt?"

This he hadn't missed.

Not one bit.

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He didn't know how he managed it with her picking and prodding and trying to practically change his clothes for him, or get at his hair with scissors_ 'just a trim, please, just to get the dead ends off!' _but somehow he was able to shave and only cut himself twice.

He'd finally given up and pulled his hood up to shield himself, "I am going to cut that infernal hood OFF! It's rude! I was trying to talk to you! It's like you're ignoring me!" Then she'd let out a boiling sound like a little roar between pursed lips and given him a hard slap across the seat of his pants, then stormed away with her hands on her hips.

He felt oddly like he'd won a war, even if she had swatted him, embarrassing as it was, and hissed through astringent on his cuts and bits of tissue stuck over them to soak up the blood. When he emerged onto the porch again Chris was sitting on the wall and Walker had arrived with Sharon, their daughter Kara and his teenaged son Jeffery.

Walker had a beer and when Altair came out of the house with hunched shoulders and his hood drawn over his eyes the older man laughed heartily. "AWWW! Did Mama's baby get a boo-boo!"

Chris lept to his feet and darted over trying to pull his hood off; "Did she shave your head? I heard her shouting she must have or you wouldn't be limping around like a dog in one of those neck cones!"

Walker was still laughing, rubbing tears from his eyes, face gone red as he tried to breathe.

"Laugh all you want." He lifted his hood long enough to show off that he still had his hair before he covered it again lest Mother be lurking in the shadows with her clippers and tackle him to finish the job.

Irene's biological children, the four that had been at home when Altair arrived, had at first seen him as more of a pet than a brother. Like one of those little frufru dogs some women carried around in their purses. He was 'mom's baby'. Picked out just for mom to fuss over and coddle while she went through menopause.

It wasn't until he was fifteen that Walker and Chris actually started to see him as more than just a fashion accessory in their mother's wardrobe. They realized that coming home from college on the weekends and hanging out with him was a big stress relief. That and a good excuse to do stupid things they were 'too old' to do.

The twins? Well, to them Altair was still just a stranger come to steal attention that should have been theirs.

Sharon emerged from the house with bottles of beer between her fingers, passing them to Ray and Charles and their girlfriends before she settled in the chair Chris had occupied earlier.

Altair leaned his hip against the wall, trying not to knock over or be dripped on by one of his mother's potted plants, or sit in a wet spot from all the recent rain. "How many people did Dad invite to this thing?"

"Have you seen him?" Chris motioned around.

"No."

"That should tell you then."

Usually when their father barbecued everyone would be in the back yard, and he would be socializing with every single person at once… The simple fact that his brothers were all on the front porch should have set off warning bells in Altair's head.

"He's got over sixty people coming to celebrate the big hero!"

The twins chimed in by clapping rather unenthusiastically and nodding.

Altair would have started feeling rather rotten then, had not the most peculiar noise stolen his attention.

He turned his head and watched, curiously, as a black leather clad body on a Ninja pulled into the driveway, settled the bike onto its kickstand and climbed off, helmet pulling away…

"Hey, Thorpe, good to see you finally made it."

She settled her helmet on her seat and yanked the zipper down on her jacket, searching frantically in hidden pockets and pulling out a package of gum, popping three little squares in her mouth and chewing rapidly before she even so much as acknowledged someone had spoken to her. "Your directions are shit. I had to call Dickenson to get it right and the little peckerwood asked me out." She popped open the under seat compartment and Altair was riveted on her as everyone hushed.

As if noticing their stares she rolled her eyes; "Calm down, I know khaki casual when I see it." She rummaged around, tossing a wadded up burger wrapper into the street and pulled out a dark little shopping bag, dangling it from one finger as she seemed to swagger up the steps, locking eyes with everyone there as she passed. "Leather isn't kosher, I understand _perfectly_… Is there a bathroom I can change in, or do I use the shrubbery like the other godless natives?"

Nobody said anything, but Walker jerked his chin toward the door and with a sarcastic smile, she disappeared inside.

Sharon was seemingly shaking in rage, hissing at Walker's shoulder as soon as the door had closed. The twins were chattering excitedly like startled monkeys, and Chris was kind of staring with his mouth hanging open.

"I can't believe you! Your brother can do so much better than that slut! Why didn't you let me ask Susan! Susan would have been so cute with him! She's just his type!" Sharon was practically foaming at the mouth.

"No, Susan would have looked pretty in a picture with him. I know my brother, Sharon. Thorpe is just—"

"She's a slut, Walker, a SLUT!"

Altair touched one of the stained pieces of tissue on his chin and glanced upward at the sky with his nose wrinkled up.

At least nothing much had changed since he'd been gone.

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_Sorry for the ugly delay, personal things came up, sinus infection, computer virus and a buttload of snow. More chapters next week hopefully! And I promise some AltairEzio soon! ;)_

_—OZ—_

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	21. Chapter 21

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_**NOTE;** I've incorporated a few characters so far without naming them, but this one is going to need a little explanation. Daddy-Dearest IS who you thought he was, (I hope) at least I intended him to be, but since the name in the game is actually a title, I gave him a name here… =3= He also had a shave and a haircut because the bushy beard didn't really fit in with his modern persona. _

_5 Points to whoever can guess what the name I gave him means. XD_

_And 10 points to whoever can guess correctly the reason Altair was discharged from the military! HINT! It's not the reason you think it is! *Devious Face* _

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**Chapter 21; Hero's Welcome**

Altair hated social functions. Everyone who had had contact with him in the past ten years knew that. He liked to keep to himself, enjoyed the occasional walk or frolic across the rooftops same as the next guy, he tried to keep everything professional and tried even harder not to have personal attachments.

He also happened to like silence.

Which, at the moment, there was a terrible lack of.

Loud noises made his heart race. Crowded rooms made his throat close off. And the fact somewhere between the front door and the back door he'd lost his jacket with its lovely hood, as well as the comforting weight of his knife in his sleeve, just made it all the worse.

So, he sat down on a kitchen chair across from his mother's friend Dorothy's youngest son, a snotty, spoiled, foul mouthed, lazy little bastard who wore only designer clothes and had taken out a third mortgage on his mother's house to buy a Porsche that he crashed a week later.

The kid was barely eighteen and Altair hated his guts.

But, the kid was quiet while he was texting, so Altair tolerated him.

Mom, Dorothy and Altair's eldest adoptive sibling Emma, were moving around the kitchen clucking and chattering like hens over dishes of food brought by their guests. Tasting and sampling, heating, chilling, adding some salt or sliding the casserole to the back of the fridge where it could be 'forgotten'.

Altair's mind seemed to hone in on everything. Feeling startled, maybe even disgusted by the dishonesty he saw in everything.

Mom and Emma would smile, hug and press kisses to cheeks, say how happy they were to see you. Ask if you'd lost weight, make surprised jubilant eyes at whatever food was presented, hiss an excited 'Ooo! My FAVORITE!' and offer a drink… Then as soon as you were out in the back yard the eyebrows would curl upward, mouths would purse and hands would fold around ears;

"Did you see that skirt? I don't think it could be any shorter! And how old is she now? Fifty? What was she thinking!"

"She doesn't think, darling… That's why he married her."

"Don't look now but I think she's had some work done… See her breasts? Who does she think she's trying to fool? She might as well have just put water balloons in her shirt!"

"Yeeeessss, just keep smiling, you poor dumb bastard, she's not going to the gym just for the exercise."

"What should I do with this goop?"

"Just hide it behind the fruit platter, by the time we pull dessert out it'll be too late for another hot dish."

"Speaking of hot dish, you'll never guess what I heard about that Barnes woman, yesterday!"

"Mother, when are we allowed to eat? I'm starving!" Dorothy's little bastard rolled his eyes and slumped in his chair.

Altair scoffed under his breath.

That little shit hadn't eaten since that morning and he was 'starving'. Altair was tempted to tell him to stop complaining and be glad he'd had a meal that day. That there were people who had to go days, maybe even weeks without reliable food. Or if they did eat, they had to do—

Ray stuck his head into the kitchen, grinning broadly; "Mother… They're here!"

Irene spun on her heel, hand flattening on her chest, eyes wide and she dove out the back door, shoes clacking on the porch; "They're here! Goddamnit, Palmer, get IN here!"

Altair raised his head wearily and turned to stare up at his sister; "Who's so important they got Ma' so worked up? The Governor or some shit?"

Emma scoffed and handed him a bottle of water; "Dad threw this whole thing because of your 'heroism' and you have to ask who he invited?"

Irene bustled back inside, flanked by two men, one he recognized as being a news paper reporter, the other a tall, thin man with white hair and square shoulders.

He lifted his chin and let his wife straighten his collar, glanced at Altair and gave a nod, just as the front door opened. "Mr. Auditore! Welcome! Come on in, all of you! Make yourselves at home! You're just on time."

Altair felt his spine straighten like a flag pole and he scrubbed frantically at his face, scratching off the stained little pieces of tissue and stood up—

Only to bash the top of his head into the freezer door where Emma had opened it to get some ice.

He heard a loud crack, like a gunshot and there was a collective cry of surprise.

For the next five minutes he was aware only that his heart had migrated to his skull and was warring with his brain for prime frontal lobe territory. That and every voice in the house seemed to be clucking like agitated chickens.

He didn't dare open his eyes, or remove his hands from over his scalp. Partially because he was afraid he was bleeding, and partially because he knew the second he opened his eyes he was going to have an even bigger headache because of the light. So he just sat hunched over in his chair cursing shrilly in his aching head.

"Well, did you bash your brains out, or are you going to live?" Mom was right by his ear.

He grunted. Hoping they all understood Caveman enough to see he would be alright in a few minutes, once the birds had stopped flying around his head.

Then there was laughter and Altair cracked his eyes open long enough to see his father was leading Giovanni out the back door with a firm hand between his shoulder blades, and motioning Maria, Claudia and a very pregnant blonde toward the counter to deposit the food they'd brought.

And then the humiliation sat in.

He groaned and curled tighter in on himself.

"I didn't know you'd be here, Altair." Federico stepped into the kitchen.

Irene made a noise in her throat; "Did he not tell you Palmer and I adopted him when he was young?"

"No, I guess it didn't come up."

_Good save_, Altair thought. He hadn't told the Auditore family he was the adopted son of the police chief because, at the time, he'd been disowned. It didn't seem relevant.

"S-shouldn't he have some ice on his head?" Federico tapped his temple with a finger.

"Oh…" Irene pushed on Altair's shoulder and opened the freezer again, pulling out a frozen bag of lima beans. "Come on, let me see it… God forbid you need stitches."

Reluctantly he pried his hands away and let her inspect it. Even her breath moving his hair hurt.

"Hmmm… Let me get the scissors and I'll see if you're bleeding—"

"I'm fine!" He snatched the beans away and held them to his head, this time making sure he wouldn't hit the freezer before he stood, shuffling toward the living room like a dog with its tail between its legs to sprawl himself on the couch for a few minutes, until he could see straight.

But… The couch was occupied.

Ezio was sitting there beside his younger brother, looking slightly nauseous and uncomfortable in what were obviously brand new clothes.

Petruccio was slouched down, thumbs working quickly on his cell phone. Music audible through his headphones. He glanced up at Altair as he came into the living room, then looked back to his phone.

Altair dropped gently onto a chair across the room and gave Ezio a nod.

It was kind of strange seeing him sitting there on the couch in the house Altair had grown up in. Even stranger seeing him cleaned up looking normal, despite the crutches.

Ezio gave him a faint little grin and motioned to the lima beans; "Ouch?"

"Big ouch."

It was quiet, chatter and laughter from the back yard and the odd person passing through from outside, going up stairs to the bathroom, coming down, going outside, coming in.

"So… Chief Hayes is your father?"

"Adoptive."

Ezio nodded and looked around nervously. Seeming to go tense whenever anybody passed behind him. He pulled the hood of his jacket up.

Altair wanted to say so much, wanted to ask how things were going. Ask if Ezio was comfortable, how he was feeling, but he kept his mouth shut.

Mrs. Audtiore came back into the room at that moment and smiled at them. Pecking Petruccio on the head with her knuckles.

"They are about to begin."

Petruccio nodded, rolled the cord of his headphones around his MP3 player and hid it, along with his phone, deeply in one of the pockets of his pants.

Maria watched him go then turned to Ezio, leaning her elbows on the back of the couch she spoke to him softly in Italian.

Altair didn't really know what she was saying, only catching a few words that were similar enough to the Spanish he remembered.

It looked like a private conversation, so he stood, gave the two of them a nod, and walked quietly outside, still holding the bag of beans on his head.

The backyard was crowded. Sometime while he'd been upstairs or sitting miserably at the kitchen table, people had actually arrived. There were officers from the precinct, a few family friends, the mayor, and the Auditores… The rest of the throng Altair knew were either reporters, or people high on the political totem pole.

Folding tables had been set out in strategic and artistic places around the yard. Chairs and benches, all seeming to curve like theater seats toward the deck where the old man was standing over his expensive grill, and where some of Mother's potted plants had been arranged to create a presentation space at the railing.

It all screamed carefully orchestrated production to Altair.

Even more so when he noticed how his mother was standing while she spoke to a few politicians. Her hands cupped and folded elegantly in front of her, smiling politely, graceful movements… Like a bad play and he hadn't memorized his lines.

_Oh, God, what the hell am I going to say if they ask me questions!_

He backed silently through the crowd and ended up hiding in the little niche between the fence and the deck, watching everyone and wracking his aching brain for any semblance of a plan.

"You're harder to find than a fart in a wind storm, you know that?"

Altair glanced upward with a wince.

He was a little surprised to see Sergeant Thorpe leaning over the rail with her fingers latticed together.

She'd changed out of her leathers, and was wearing a tight pair of dark jeans black flats and an overly large black and gray striped cardigan over a dark red tank top. She blinked at Altair and jerked a thumb over her shoulder; "Do I look suburban enough to pass as one of Them?"

"Take the tags off the sweater and you'll fit in well enough."

She paled and discretely grabbed at them under her arm, cursing under her breath. She glanced around, making sure nobody was looking, then twisted her body and brought the tags to her teeth, biting through the plastic tie and dropping them into the bushes. "Thanks for that."

"No problem…"

"So… Why the hell are you hiding over here?"

He shrugged.

She nodded a little and leaned backward, hanging onto the rail, staring upward, then rocked forward again looking bored. "You know, when I agreed to come I thought your brother meant 'date' not 'beard'."

Altair blinked up at her startled. "What?"

"You're gay, aren't you."

It didn't come out like a question, just a rather blandly stated fact.

"What makes you think that?"

"Well, for one, I've got a really damned good gaydar, and two you haven't once looked at my tits the whole time I've been bent over like this."

He did look then, simply because she'd mentioned them. "I'm not… totally gay."

"You can't be a little bit gay."

He looked away for a moment, to regroup, then looked up at her with his nose wrinkled; "Pansexual then."

"Kinky."

He snorted; "How is that kinky?"

She just grinned in a holier-than-thou way. "Bisexual implies only men and women… But you said Pansexual, which implies anything with a pulse and a filed away under the 'human' category."

"I've known you five minutes and you're already analyzing my sexuality."

"I really don't have anything else to talk about, unless you want to talk about guns."

"I don't like guns."

"Ah."

"I prefer knives…"

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Altair didn't know how he'd survived, but somehow he'd made it halfway through the barbecue without being cornered by his parents, or the press. He supposed the thick aura of superiority Sergeant Thorpe exuded was a pretty good defensive barrier against annoying chitchat.

Of course, there was only so much he could talk to her about before it started to become a heated debate.

Altair didn't know why Walker thought the two of them would hit it off so well… The woman was opinionated, mouthy, rude, and had punched him twice in the arm when he flinched after she'd asked him what it was like to be fucked by another man.

Aside from the fact she did seem to play his kind of bedroom games, it didn't appear that they had anything else in common. And Altair didn't want to alarm her, or anybody else, but her mere presence was starting to piss him off.

Fantasy, he decided, was a lot different than reality.

He decided that the only way to get out of this, and get away from her, was to engage one of those damned reporters, the mayor, or God forbid his parents.

It was like falling, he supposed, sometimes you've just got to close your eyes, open your arms, and let it happen.

"Hey, Dad… Come here a minute, would you?"

The old man excused himself from the men he'd been talking to, and walked over, swirling the dregs of his beer in his bottle.

It was almost an audible hit to his pride that he'd actually called out to him. He hadn't wanted to be the first one to break their nearly twelve-year silence… But if Thorpe didn't stop talking he was either going to strangle her or take her up to his old room and fuck her, and at the moment he didn't want either.

Palmer was built almost identical to Walker, older and a little thicker in the chest. He had a cataract on one eye that depleted his vision but he worked mostly behind a desk now so it didn't bother him much. He was also a retired Marine, and still oozed that straight laced militarily controlling aura. He'd been strict while Altair was growing up, but he'd also been fair… Until Altair's discharge from the military. Then he'd changed, become a religious whack-job and someone who only fundamentally resembled the person who'd always been such an inspiration to Altair.

Now he was just a cranky old man who wanted to look good in the public eye and bend the facts to his will.

When he approached he patted Altair on the back and smiled, but there was no warmth in it—

And that hurt.

Altair hadn't been expecting it, but a twinge shot through his chest, the death throes of that last shred of hope he'd kept hidden from everyone, even himself—Hope that his father would apologize and accept him for who he was, would not try to make him fit with harsh words and angry fists.

"Yeah… I'm—" He swallowed past a lump in his throat, and every plan he'd made on his way over, every sentence and retort and defiant jab he'd put together came rushing back; "I'm gonna have to go. It was nice seeing you."

Palmer didn't say anything at first, then he smiled and gripped Altair's arm; "Well if you've got to go, then you've got to go… Take care of yourself." He nodded to Thorpe and turned, and spoke loudly, joyfully at Maria and Giovanni, who'd just returned to the table their family was gathered around and were looking around uneasy.

Altair wove through the crowd, dodging looks and attempts of conversation, not because he wanted to be rude, but because it felt like his chest was imploding. His vision was shrinking in at the edges and everyone he saw was tinged in red.

Blue stole his attention as he passed into the living room and he turned toward it, startled to find Claudia and Ezio sitting on the couch, Claudia rubbing gently at the back of her brother's neck where he was bent over his knees.

Ezio glanced up at him, looking teary and a little green, and Altair wanted to stop and ask if he was OK, but there was an insistent tug at his elbow and he realized Thorpe was still there, pulling him toward the door.

She had a serious look in her eye and hissed quietly at him; "Not now, not now, just keep walking." She pushed him outside, past the twins who were still occupying the front porch, too good to show themselves alongside the peons in the backyard, down the stairs and into the driveway. "Stay here a minute."

She pulled her hand away and seemed to prance catlike up the stairs and into the house.

It wasn't until she was gone that Altair actually felt how tight his chest had become, how hard it was to draw breath, or how badly his hands were shaking. He was a little glad that she'd made him leave at that moment.

Thorpe reappeared a few seconds later, shrugging into her leather jacket, carrying Altair's backpack. She tossed his jacket at him, and he tried to ignore how his whole body was beginning to tremble as he pulled it on. He took his switchblade out of a pocket on his backpack before he shrugged it over his shoulders, slipping the knife into his sleeve where it felt natural.

"What was wrong with Ezio?"

She glanced up at him as she backed her bike into the street; "Some asshole of a reporter asked some assholeish questions. His sister has it under control."

Altair felt that burning ache in his chest intensify and he balled his hands into fists.

"Don't do it… Mr. Auditore's got it in covered, look." She jerked her chin toward the end of the driveway and the wedge of backyard seen over the fence. Altair glanced up, noticing how Federico, Petruccio and Giovanni were all on their feet now, like a wall of anger, Giovanni speaking quickly and making slashing motions through the air with his hand at a group of men including Palmer.

"Come on." Thorpe kicked her bike into life. "I'll buy you a drink, you look like you need it."

Altair ground his teeth and turned away from the house, threw his leg over the bike and wrapped his arms around Thorpe's waist.

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	22. Chapter 22

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**Chapter 22; The Way Things Are**

The therapist's office was quiet. Brightly lit from large windows that gave the space an open, earthy appearance. There were garden boxes in the room, little fichus trees, ferns and miniature palms. There were cushions on the furniture, big plush brown green and red things that Ezio liked to wrap his arms around and hold to his chest like a shield.

Marjory was a nice woman, in Ezio's opinion. She didn't press for information he wasn't willing to share, and she didn't seem to mind that he liked to keep his hood up, or that during their sessions the little pieces of hard candy in a decorative navy blue dish on her coffee table one by one migrated to his pockets.

She didn't seem to mind that when he got upset, to calm and reassure himself that he was safe and nobody was going to steal or harm him, he pulled out food he'd squirreled away in the backpack Petruccio had given him, and compulsively ate while he was talking.

She merely asked him why he did it, and nodded when he answered, saying in that calm explanatory voice of hers that maybe he should try listening to music, or writing when he got nervous, so he would have a variety of things to do, lest he be in a situation that nibbling potato chips or Oreo cookies would be a not so good idea.

This was the second time Ezio had seen her, the first being the day after he'd been reunited with his family. They'd all crowded into the room with him, and talked as a family with Marjory and Mama' therapist Angelo, a fifty-something man from Sicily who spoke with a comforting accent and translated to Marjory when Mama got agitated and started speaking only Italian.

Today? Today, Ezio was alone in the room with Marjory, and had barely spoken, just sat there on her couch with his crutches in the floor at his feet, working his way through the last of the chip packages he'd stuffed in his bag.

"Would you like some water, Ezio?" Marjory smiled at him sympathetically.

He nodded.

She went to a little minifridge she kept under her desk and returned with a bottle of water. "If you don't want to talk about the bad things that happened yesterday, why don't you tell me about the good things that happened?"

He hesitated, shook his head, then after a moment changed his mind and mumbled quietly around his Cheetos. "The food was good… And Altair was there."

"Altair?" Marjory glanced at her notes. "The Private Investigator?"

Ezio nodded; "He'd smacked his head on the freezer door… It sounded like somebody had hit a melon with a hammer."

Marjory flinched; "That doesn't sound so good."

"I don't suspect it was… But he came and sat in the living room where I was sitting… We talked a little."

"What did you talk about?"

Ezio shrugged. "I don't remember… I just remember his voice."

"Really?"

"Yes. He has a little bit of an accent… I like how he pronounces his vowels."

Marjory smiled; "Can you tell me what the barbecue was like? Did you meet any other good people?"

He shrugged again; "Chief Hayes makes me nervous… Like he can see right through me." He shivered; "Mrs. Hayes was nice though. She makes good cake… Her chicken casserole was a little dry, but the cake was good."

"What kind of cake was it?"

Ezio sighed and shifted uncomfortably against the couch. "I know you're just trying to get me to open up and trust you… But talking about cake is just making me hungry for it, and I'd rather change the subject." He stuffed his remaining chips into his bag and opened the water, taking two long drinks before he twisted the cap back on and slouched down with his arms crossed over his stomach.

"Alright then, what would you like to talk about?"

He hesitated and looked down at his leg while he spoke; "Will I ever be able to go back to the way things were before?"

Marjory sighed and her smiled faded. "I am going to be perfectly frank with you Ezio, you're a very smart young man and I hope you understand why, but you can grow and move past what has happened to you. You can have a wonderful, fulfilling, meaningful life… But, no, things won't ever be like they were before."

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Altair woke face down on an unfamiliar bed. The sheets smelled of cigarette smoke and the noise from the street was louder than should be legal. His head felt swollen, the bruised painful spot where he'd bashed it into the freezer door throbbed along with his eyes, and in the back of his dry throat there was a bitter, slimy taste like vomit and rotten peaches.

"You've got shit alcohol tolerance…" Weight shifted on the bed beside him and he didn't dare shift his head, didn't dare move, just pried his left eye open to a slit and peered out miserably across a mountainous landscape of rumpled crimson linins and spied the back of a dark head, hair knotted from a night of restless slumber.

Thorpe wasn't wearing a shirt, and a stab of horror shot through the bottom of Altair's stomach.

What the fuck had happened! The last thing he remembered was being on the woman's motorcycle, zipping through traffic like a goddamned gnat, hiding his face in the back of her neck so he could breathe, then bits and pieces of the night. Little snippets like the litter on a cutting room floor. Random scenes pasted together.

A big man with an eye patch and an accent laughing loudly and kicking ass at darts.

Falling down in the street and thinking his hands looked really pale against the dark wet asphalt.

Thorpe's face wrinkled up in disgust as she pushed him into her shower.

He inhaled slowly and wracked his brain for the earliest memory of the night.

He remembered walking into his first bar, thinking it looked a little disappointing, like the Applebee's but with fewer women and no squalling children. He remembered Thorpe sitting down and ordering herself a Virgin Mary; "I've got to drive this guy home." She patted his back amicably, then knocked her knuckles against the bar and said; "Bring him some jello shots and Schnapps."

He'd swallowed maybe five or six of the little paper cups of jello and after that he remembered very little indeed.

"Quit your moaning, you act like you've never had a hangover before…" She took a drag on her smoke and flicked the ashes off the bed somewhere; "Pussy."

Altair tried not to stare at her nipples, he'd always found nipples strange entrancing, ultra sensitive things. And instead he tried to focus on the dark bands and swirls she had patterned over both arms from her elbows up and across her back.

He recognized five languages, all saying the same thing, and there were yet more he was willing to bet said the same thing as well.

She stood, waddling toward the other side of the little room, looking somehow inelegant but overwhelming in just a pair of men's plaid boxer shorts and her skin as she shuffled into the bathroom and shut the door behind her.

Altair let his eyes shut and searched frantically through his mind for anything, any more little flashes of what had happened last night, or that morning.

All it gave him was an even more intense headache and the sensation that he was on a boat in rough seas, his stomach rising and falling.

Thorpe came out of the bathroom a few seconds later having pulled on her tank top from the barbecue, and padded over to his side of the bed. "Come on. Upsy-Daisy!" She wrenched the blankets back. "You need water and protein."

When he didn't budge she flattened both hands on his bare back and kneaded him like a cat; "I know you're awake, you're making noise and your eye was open a minute ago."

He kept his eyes closed but hissed out a reply between chapped lips; "Did we have sex?"

"No… Number one; You were drunk and covered in puke. Number two; I'm straight and you're kinda' not."

"What happened then?"

"You mean before or after the bar?"

He just grunted.

She sighed and gave a little nod, fingers still working at the tense muscles at the base of his neck; "Well, after you got plainly shitfaced like a freshman I took you outside to get some air. I wanted to take you home but you couldn't be bothered to stay on the bike, you kept trying to roll off, or climb up buildings like a fucking monkey. So I brought you home with me and you sat in the tattoo parlor down stairs while I scared off a few minors with fake IDs and when I came back inside you were in Spike's chair with your shirt off—"

Altair blinked, blinked again and turned his head to stare at her with wide agonized eyes; "I did what?"

Thorpe smiled wickedly and spoke in an evil, singsong voice; "Yoooou'll seeeeeee.'

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Tuesday didn't come fast enough in Desmond's opinion. Having to spend a whole two days by himself in his dorm room was hellish. He'd spent all of Sunday and Monday doing the work he'd missed from the previous Thursday, and had to blow off a date with Lucy just so he could sleep.

Lit class was even worse. Chin propped on his hand staring at the professor while he lectured on and on about the end of semester project. A life analysis disguised as a biography—

Desmond was starting to wonder why he'd taken this specific professor and not one of the four others who offered this class.

'Greer is easy,' the girl who'd arranged his schedule said, winking at him. 'He doesn't have you reading all sorts of bullshit like the other guys. Greer is all writing… he was the creative writing professor, but when they got that author guy they booted him to Lit. If you've got a good imagination you'll be fine.'

Desmond hadn't been paying attention to what she'd been saying, he'd been too preoccupied on the words; 'Greer is easy.'

Now, he was paying for it.

Desmond didn't really like writing that much. Reading, he liked in moderation. Forms and reports and shit for Altair he could do. That was fine, but involved writing was something he just didn't enjoy doing. Especially when it was writing about himself—Especially when Shaun was sitting right beside him scribbling quickly in a notebook in illegible shorthand.

Hadn't the world stopped using shorthand in like, the eighties? And weren't only old lady secretaries supposed to know it? Why did Shaun?

A sharp kick to his shin and warning to stop staring at him and pay attention to the professor later and Desmond turned hatefully back to the front, teeth ground together, preparing to rip his hair from his head if he wasn't able to vent his frustrations soon.

Inactivity was one of the worst punishments for him. It was like an itch at the back of his head. If he wasn't doing something he would go crazy.

Blessedly, like the sound of angelic trumpets, the bell rang and Desmond was out of his seat jogging toward the exit faster that he could say his own name.

"DON'T LEAVE ME BEHIND YOU _ARSE!"_ Shaun grabbed a handful of his hair as he started down the steps and yanked.

"OUCH!"

And that sat the mood for the entire train ride and walk to Altair's office.

Desmond stuck his head into the print shop and called a greeting to Malik, who glared at him miserably from behind a wad of tissues, then he stepped back out and popped open the all weather door and practically bounded up the staircase like a gazelle.

Shaun grumbled behind him that a building like this should have an elevator and huffed and puffed his way up as well.

Since it was afternoon Desmond didn't bother with coffee this late in the day, instead he just strolled into the office like he owned the place, Shaun stopping in the doorway with wide eyes and square shoulders.

Another chair had found its way to Desmond's desk, wrapped in plastic and obviously just freshly put together because there were instructions, plastic bags and cardboard still strewn on the floor, and Altair was just coming out of the adjoining bathroom fiddling with the zip of his jacket. He didn't even take notice of Shaun until he'd pulled his coat open and hiked his shirt up. "Des, does this look infected to you?"

Desmond blinked stupidly at him in surprise. "W-what?"

And Altair became acutely aware of a presence in the door behind him and turned.

Shaun's face turned red as brick and he looked pointedly away from the older man's chest.

Altair hissed over his shoulder; "I thought I said _TUESDAY_…" He carefully pulled his shirt back down and moved quickly to his own desk.

"This_ is_ Tuesday, Altair."

He sighed miserably and dropped into his chair, fanning his fingers over his eyes. He motioned to the chair beside Desmond and Shaun scurried to it with his tongue between his teeth. Bending and quickly gathering up the mess in the floor because he wanted to look responsible and tidy.

Desmond just loped over to Altair like an adolescent bloodhound and propped the heels of his hands on the desk. "Now what looks infected?"

He growled and after a moment's hesitation, hiked his shirt up again, hand still over his face.

Desmond made a significant amount of noise as he leaned over, nose wrinkled up staring. "When'd you get _that_ done and _why!"_

"I was drunk."

Desmond chuckled stupidly; "Yeah, right… What'd you do, lose a bet to Malik or something?"

"No— I got drunk… The barbecue was a total fucking nightmare, I cut out early with Maria—"

"Mrs. Auditore?" He sounded flabbergasted.

He flapped his hands in Desmond's face and shooed him back to his desk; "NO! _THORPE!_ Sergeant Thorpe!"

Desmond stumbled back ward with his lower lip out and dropped into his chair.

"You remember her… You said she scared your testicles—"

"OH!" The younger man blanched, then giggled and pointed at him; "You really _did_ get drunk! And you got your _nipple_ pierced!" then he started laughing… Loudly.

"It's not funny you little shit!"

He wiped his eyes and sat up, unzipping his bag; "If you don't want it, j-just take it out!"

He tucked his chin to his chest and peered down at the little silver barbell for a few seconds despondently; "I tried… Repeatedly. That's why I think it's infected now…"

"Just put some alcohol on it… I thought you had your ear pierced too, it's the same principle."

"It is not the same thing… This is—" He touched it, curious like a little kid poking a toad with a stick, teeth gritting at the jolt that shot through him. "Fuck I don't even know why I did it!"

And a strange strangled noise came from the redhead as he tried to hide his face in his satchel and choke his laughter at the same time.

"What are you laughin' at." Altair groused, face scrunching up in an almost perfect imitation of Malik.

Shaun lifted his head, eyes watering in amusement; "Yes, please put some alcohol on it!"

Desmond's dark eyes glittered deviously and he went to the bathroom, rummaging in the medicine chest for disinfectant.

Altair continued to glare at Shaun; "This isn't how things usually work around here, I hope you know that. You will be _working._ You'll learn the same things you were in class, only in practical application. I also make it a point that you learn self defense—"

Shaun was biting the edge of his satchel, laughing tears rolling down his face, hands clamped over his crotch. Even as he nodded in agreement to everything Altair was saying.

Altair rolled his eyes; "If you've gotta piss don't just sit there and hold yourself like a two-year-old, go do it. If you ruin that chair or my floor you're cleaning it up!"

Desmond came back with cotton balls and the alcohol. "It's gonna sting like a motherfucker… Want me to do it?" He looked a little too eager.

Shaun made a desperate breathlessly laughing noise and pulled his phone from his pocket, still holding himself; "Wait, WAIT! My sister will never believe this!" He rubbed moisture from his eyes with his elbow; "I don't even believe this!"

Altair covered his face with one arm and gripped the edge of the desk with the left so he wouldn't be tempted to punch one of the two young men bending over him— When a voice cut through Shaun's amusement.

"I'm hoping this isn't what I think it is…"

Desmond turned his head and stared while Shaun tried to hide his phone behind his back, still gripping his crotch like his life depended on it.

Hadiya was buttoning her jacket and giving the three of them questioning looks.

Altair tried to pull his shirt down but Desmond had hold of it and wouldn't let him. He imagined what kind of vision they created.

"We're going to see if putting alcohol on an infected nipple piercing will make him piss himself."

Hadiya blinked, blinked again and muttered something under her breath as she walked away.

Desmond was turning back when Altair jabbed a thumb hard into his middle. He 'ooof'ed and stumbled back.

"Recess is over, show Giggles the filing system." He snatched the alcohol soaked swab out of Desmond's hand and threw it at Shaun, then waited while the two younger men shuffled off to do what he'd said before he turned his chair around to face that painting on the wall and soaked another cotton ball, gathering the hem of his shirt between his teeth and sucking in a deep breath before he squeezed out a drop of disinfectant onto the piercing…

At first nothing happened, and he was genuinely surprised, then suddenly it felt like someone had jabbed him in the chest with a red hot needle. He must have made a noise because Desmond spluttered a laugh into a cough and Shaun made a whining noise and darted into the bathroom.

Altair tried to ignore them both has he finished cleaning around it, tears in his eyes. He muttered 'stupid thing' around his shirt and covered the area with a patch of light gauze just to keep his shirt from rubbing against it and causing more irritation.

"It's almost two, can we have lunch?" Desmond said, trying to sound nonchalant. "I'm really craving Chinese."

Altair scoffed and turned back around in his chair, organizing a stack of paperwork on his desk. "I'm not paying for it."

"Can't we write it off as a company expense?"

"What company expense?"

"Buttering up the new guy?"

Shaun came out of the bathroom looking relieved.

Altair sighed loudly and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "Look, incase you can't tell, I'm not in a very good mood today—"

"Cause your nipple hurts?"

"NO."

"Because your dad's a douche and let reporters ask Ezio douchey questions and gave him a panic attack?"

Altair's teeth clamped down on his tongue and glared warningly at him.

"I talked to Fredrico last night…" Desmond kept flipping through the files without looking at the older man.

Altair dropped his head into his hands. "His name is 'Federico'…"

"That's what I said. And don't worry about it too much, Ezio's fine now, and your dad isn't the only one who is a douche… Mine's just as bad."

Shaun nodded; "Mine was too, may he burn in hell… And don't say douche again."

Desmond scowled at Shaun; "The only fathers I've ever met that were worth anything were Mr. Auditore and Malik."

"My granddad wasn't too bad," Shaun said, using a file as a pointer and shaking it lightly in Desmond's direction.

"My grandparents are hippies… They live in a commune in Ohio."

"Less talking, more working, Guys." Altair slouched back in his seat and turned to his computer, clicking through e-mails and trying not to rub and scratch at the residual sting on the left side of his chest.

"There's nothing to do! You've got like, ten pending cases and you're just _ignoring_ them!" He threw his arms in the air in frustration.

"I'm waiting on a lead to pan out—"

"Are you talkin' to Mickey again? I can go butter him up!"

"No."

"Aw, come on! I'm practically a PI now, I can do more than just organizing your files and answering the goddamned phone."

"You'll do what I say or I won't sign off on you."

"Now you're just being a bitch."

Altair made a noise between his teeth eyes seeming to glow in rage, and he chucked an orange stress ball he kept on his desk at Desmond's head. "GO! Get out of here! I don't want to ever see you again! Either of you!"

"I'll bring you back some egg rolls!" He smiled brightly, perhaps this was a regular occurrence.

Shaun ducked, arms over his head, eyes wide and horrified as Altair started throwing pencils and pens at them like knives as they ran out the door.

Once on the street again he stared at Desmond while the younger man seemed to skip, a big grin on his face. "You're mad… Absolutely mad."

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	23. Chapter 23

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_(**NOTE;** I think I spoil you guys. Three chapters last week, four this week... You're so lucky my muse has been parked on my couch this month. Thank you guys so much for reading and reviewing! *Hugs you all* I hope you like these chapters!)_

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**Chapter 23; So Far Away**

May passed quickly for Ezio, and with it the realization that he'd spent a month at home.

He had migrated, in that time, from sleeping sandwiched between his parents every night, to sleeping in his own bed in his own room with the lamp by his desk turned on.

Mama had helped him clean the room out, his old things were sorted, some went into storage with happy tears as they were packed away, some went to the local Salvation Army, since the clothes in his closet were no longer relics of a boy lost but those of a man found.

He found himself gravitating to jeans with a multitude of pockets and zippers, black hooded sweatshirts with red and white decorations, like a stripe across the breast or stylized wings on the back. And t-shirts with silkscreen images on them.

The soccer memorabilia thinned out to a few updated magazines on his desk, a ball he liked to throw into the air and catch because it felt familiar and calming. He kept the aquamarine paint on the walls though, it was soothing and bright. His bed was larger, the sheets no longer covered in cartoon figures but now rich navy flannel. Soft and warm.

He'd begun to build hanging sculptures from tacks and hooks Father had put in the ceiling for him, with little pictures he'd snipped into unusual shapes, old CDs that caught the light and origami birds Petruccio taught him to make. Decorating his walls were photos of himself and his family, each one gradually more relaxed and natural than the last.

He had a CD player, as well as an MP3 player, gifts from his sister. Music, it seemed, had given his life new meaning. He didn't go anywhere without music. It, along with the snacks in his pockets and backpack were his weapons against the panic.

Federico had supplied him with a TV and every weekend came over from his apartment across town and they would watch movies, or sit on the roof balcony and talk while Ezio tended the flowerpots he'd put out, growing herbs and roses.

Mama would help him every night, tutoring him to supplement the schooling he'd missed and he found himself obsessing over numbers. Found himself sitting down and scribbling multiplication or long division problems just to play with them.

And he'd fallen in love with his wallet. He sometimes pulled it out of his pocket and reorganized everything in it. An emergency contact card, his photo ID, a debit card his father had given him, along with some money in an account. As well as forty-three dollars in cash he liked to count and line up in order of smallest bill, all the heads facing the same direction, and a rechargeable gift card to McDonalds from Desmond.

And other than going to and from his therapy appointments, Ezio didn't like to leave the house.

Sometimes he didn't even like leaving his bed.

He was terrified.

Over the last month the menacing faces in the crowds had multiplied in number. The innocent gestures, glances and touches of his family had begun to leave him trembling and sick to his stomach.

Papa tried to take him places. Out to eat, to see the bank, or to visit Federico and Katie…

But Ezio had discovered his heart started racing unpleasantly whenever he was outside the safe four walls of his home.

If he didn't leave, nothing could happen to him.

Nobody could hurt him if he didn't go near them, if they didn't know he was there.

He slept almost sixteen to eighteen hours a day, and had gradually lost all the weight he'd managed to gain since being rescued.

The only company he had on a regular basis was Petruccio, who would come into his room moments after getting home from school and stay until it was time he went to bed.

Sometimes Ezio went days without speaking.

Desmond came over twice, but Ezio pretended to be asleep. Saying he had a headache and didn't want to be bothered.

In all truth… He couldn't look at Desmond without feeling secretly jealous that the other young man had gotten away from Borgia when they were young. Jealous that Desmond hadn't endured what he had… Angry.

And realizing that he was jealous, angry that Desmond hadn't been brutalized too, made Ezio feel evil, sick, disturbed, like the men who'd forced themselves upon him as a child.

What kind of person would wish such a thing on somebody else?

Not a good person, that was for certain.

Ezio found himself pulling the lock on the bathroom door and sitting there in the floor staring into space, tears rolling down his cheeks, fingernails dug into his wrists, shoulders or thighs until he left bloody crescents and lines in his skin.

May twenty-fifth, Ezio only knew the date because his alarm clock went off at nine and the weather report was playing. Partly cloudy, high in the fifties.

He didn't want to go to therapy. He didn't want to lie to himself or to Marjory any longer.

A soft knock at the door, probably Claudia asking if he needed any help picking out his clothing that she had a garbage bag here to tape around his cast so he could shower.

He pulled the blankets over his head and ignored it, feeling small and fragile between the sheets.

Another knock.

He covered his ears and closed his eyes tightly, trying to block it all out.

The door slowly, quietly clicked open and Ezio went tense, breath held, listening.

Someone stepped into the room.

Each footstep sounded unnaturally loud against the carpet, and a weight settled on the bed at his back, a hand ghosting over the lump of his shoulder beneath the blankets.

"Ezio?"

He choked and was suddenly crying, throwing the covers off and lunging upward, arms wrapping tightly around the blonde's neck while he was embraced as well.

Leonardo smelled like soap. Warm, clean, familiar. And his arms, thin as they were, had such strength in them, holding Ezio tightly. He whispered in soft Italian that everything was OK, to please not cry.

"H-how did you get here? Y-you are really here, aren't you? I haven't gone crazy?"

"I'm here… I-I'm actually here to help find more people who have been taken like you were." He drew back slightly to look Ezio in the face, brushing tears away with his fingertips. "But all that can wait, yes? You have to tell me what's happened since I saw you last."

His mouth opened and closed fishlike for a few seconds before his sobbing was renewed and he just hid his face in Leo's chest and shook his head.

Leo glanced warily at the door where Mr. Auditore was standing looking pained.

The blonde swallowed thickly and shifted himself onto be bed with his friend, easing him backward until they were lying facing one another. Ezio shrouded and practically hidden in the blankets.

Leo didn't like this at all. He wasn't used to seeing Ezio like this, he was usually so strong willed, defiant. He was often quiet, but he'd never just refused to leave his bed like Mr. Auditore claimed. It didn't make sense.

He hadn't believed it until now, until he could look into Ezio's eyes and see the unbridled terror and self disgust in them.

"Alright, you can tell me later, then… I'll stay right here and you rest a little, then when you feel better we'll talk."

Ezio nodded, snuffled and gripped Leo's shirt. He wasn't really tired, but Leo's presence was such a surprise, he was just so happy to see the blonde again.

Leo heard Ezio's father slide down the wall in the hallway to sit, and pictured him holding his head in his hands. When Detective Hayes had dropped him off, on Giovanni's request, Leo had been surprised by how much Ezio's father looked like him… And was even more surprised by how tired and worn the older man looked. Dark circles under his eyes, a wrinkle forming on his brow from frowning. He looked likely to start crying at any moment.

With a mournful sigh Leo's grip on Ezio tightened and he whispered into his hair in French, hoping Mr. Auditore didn't understand him, so should his fears be real he could hear the truth without worrying the older man would become upset for being discovered; _"They have not harmed you, have they? You can tell me, I will not let it—"_

"It's not them… I—I'm a bad person. Leo, I didn't deserve to be found—"

"Don't say that! You are NOT a bad person! My, God, don't you ever say such nonsense again!" He gripped the younger man tighter. "I would be dead if it weren't for you!"

"But you don't understand… I-I wished Desmond had been hurt too. What kind of person does that!"

"A human being. You were hurt, you are still hurt, and you see someone who has not suffered as you have and you wish that they understood what you've endured. It is normal. It does not make you a bad person, it makes you human!"

"But—"

"No buts. I'm a genius, remember? I know everything." He nuzzled the top of Ezio's head, and relief washed through him when the brunette choked on a laugh and coughed it out anyway.

It was strange, but Leo did make sense. He felt more comfortable talking to the blonde than any of his family members or his therapist, simply because Leo knew what he'd been through, had been through it himself.

It was easier to let it all go.

He was quiet for a few minutes, listening to Leo's heartbeat and basking in the solid, real presence of him there, and he felt himself speaking in a whisper, something he'd not told anyone;

"I'm afraid of my father… And my older brother."

Leo started finger combing his hair.

"I'm not so afraid of my uncle, I haven't been around him enough to be afraid of him. And Petruccio… He's younger than I am, and all I remember of him from before was that he was very sick and helpless… But—"

"Your older brother, and father are bigger than you are… They pose a threat?"

"I know they would never—" His fingers tightened. "I can't even hug them, Leo… And I want to so badly. But when they get close I-I panic." He squeezed his eyes closed. "I think my father hates me."

"Why?"

"I can't be near him without getting sick, he tried to hug me last week and I-I shouted at him. Told him not to touch me… He looked so hurt. He hasn't spoken to me since, and when I enter the room he leaves." He bit into his cheek to keep back the sobs.

Outside in the hallway Giovanni dropped his head into his hands and tried to silence his own.

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It was nearly noon by the time Ezio dropped into an uneasy but deep sleep. Leo stayed with him until his bladder became too full to ignore any longer and he slipped unnoticed from the bed, pausing in the doorway to look first at Ezio, just a hand and nose visible beneath the quilt, then at Giovanni, who was still sitting against the wall, arms crossed over his knees, head bowed.

Leo tiptoed past him to the bathroom and when he returned he sat and held his ankles, waiting for the older man to notice him.

A few minutes later Giovanni raised his head and looked at the blonde, blinking through puffy reddened eyes before he looked quickly away again and inhaled deeply. "I don't hate him… I could never—I just." He gnawed his lip a moment and thudded his chest with his knuckles. "I see him, and I can't help but think that it's my fault. That if I hadn't always been in such a hurry to go to work I could have driven the two of them to school every morning and this wouldn't have happened."

"You didn't know it would happen. You couldn't have known."

"I realize that but it still hurts… I see what has happened, how he flinches at noises, how he can't bear for someone to touch him, and I get so angry at the men who did this to him… I get so angry I can't stand it." He tangled his fingers in his hair and cursed bitterly under his breath. "I can't even hug my son because of these men. I can't touch him without him thinking of what they did to him… I want to take it all away and I can't. I can't help him."

Leo nodded. "Speaking as a person in his position, just knowing that you are there is quite a lot of help… Tell him how you feel—'

Giovanni chuckled dryly and lifted his head, scrubbing his eyes with his wrist. "He doesn't need to see this. It would just frighten him more."

"You would be surprised… He thinks you hate him because you don't even try any more, you don't even stay in the room when he is there."

"Because just looking at me causes him pain."

"Letting him think you hate him hurts even more."

It was quiet for a while, just the clogged sound of Giovanni's breathing as he calmed down and the tick of a clock near the stairs.

"What about your own parents?"

Leo sighed and rested his chin on his knees. "I was an orphan, so I don't know. I like to imagine they were kind people. It's something happy to focus on anyway."

"Do you have a place to stay?"

He nodded and hummed in his throat. "The FBI has supplied a place, yes. But it is sadly mundane. I'm not even allowed to paint the walls."

"That does sound boring." Giovanni smiled at the opposite wall, then with a hefty sigh and a groan of limbs bent too long in one position, he climbed to his feet and rubbed feeling back into his behind, limping slightly; "Come on, I'll make you something to eat."

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Ezio woke to snoring.

It wasn't an entirely unpleasant sound, just a soft breathy noise, and when he opened his eyes he was a little surprised to see his father lying there on his back, one arm up over his head, lips parted. His fingers were twitching rhythmically in his sleep.

Ezio took a deep breath and swallowed. It took some effort, a lump forming in the back of his throat that seemed intent on choking him. He moved slowly, so as not to wake his father, and slipped a hand under his pillow, fishing around until he felt the soft crinkle of cellophane and drew the package slowly out.

The M&M's were a little squashed and melted, but that didn't matter. He nibbled quietly while he watched the rise and fall of his father's chest. Reacquainting himself with the older man's presence.

Sleeping was a good thing, his father was still, quiet (except for the snoring), calm. He didn't radiate anger when he was asleep, and Ezio could take a moment to just be. He didn't have to think, he could just… Just exist.

Leo hummed softly in his ear where he was spooned against his back, and whispered; "Care to share those?"

Ezio hesitated, but passed the package over his shoulder and tucked his hands under his cheek.

Leo munched quietly on a few of the chocolates then placed them back on the bed in front of Ezio, and brushed his hair from his face, settling his chin in the dip of the younger man's shoulder. "The poor man hasn't slept in a week, Ezio. He's been so worried about you."

"You spoke to him?"

"Yes, after you nodded off earlier… You really should talk to him as well."

"What am I going to say? 'I'm afraid you'll rape me? I know you never would, but I'm still afraid?'"

Leo made a quiet little surprised noise in his chest; "That's the first time I've ever heard you say that."

"Say what?"

"Before, you would just go tense and say 'hurt me'. This is the first time I've ever heard you use the word 'rape' when referring to yourself."

His eyes shifted, as if looking deep into himself, a little surprised and confused.

"When did that change for you?"

He cleared his throat quietly and leaned back into Leo's embrace; "Marjory… The therapist I was telling you about earlier. She said that accepting… Owning what had happened to me was the first step toward recovery. I thought she was crazy, but—"

"Why did you think she was crazy?"

"S-she told me to take a moment and look at myself in the mirror and just say it… I didn't, and I haven't seen her since she told me to do that. What would it prove? What would the point be?"

"Maybe you should try it, you'll never know until you do."

His chest tightened. "I can't."

"I'll do it too."

He started picking at the M&M's again and tried to ignore the blonde.

"Come on, I'll be with you the whole time."

"I don't want to."

"Why not?"

"Because it's pointless."

"Ezio…" He sighed; "Alright then, will you come with me while I do it?"

"Why?"

"Because I need to." He swallowed; "Because I'm tired of pretending it never happened."

He got only silence as an answer. But after a moment Ezio hid his chocolates under the pillow again and slowly, so as not to disturb his father, shifted and sat up. He didn't bother with his crutches, his underarms had become incredibly sore because of them, besides he was able to put some weight on his leg now, and instead he let Leo loop his arm over thin shoulders, and together they hobbled out the door and down the hall to the bathroom.

It seemed daunting, standing there before the big mirrors, reflected on three sides with all those vanity lights blinding them and illuminating every scar and blemish they'd tried to hide or ignore.

Leo's face wrinkled up and he leaned close to the mirrors with wide eyes; _"Mon Dieu!_ I can see my pores!"

Ezio rolled his eyes, shifting his weight on his uninjured foot, hip leaned against the counter for balance. He crossed his arms high on his chest and tried not to look at himself. Finding that the angles of the mirrors created multiple versions of himself that all stared back out of too thin faces and sad hollow eyes.

Under all of those lights even Leo looked different. Owlish.

"Is there a certain technique? Or should I j-just say it?"

"You just look at yourself and say it."

"Look at what part of myself? All I can see are my _pores_—" He made a disgusted noise in his throat; "I look like a block of Swiss _cheese!"_

"You do not… You just look at yourself. Into your eyes."

Leo pressed his face close to the mirror, mouth drawing down, eyes large and bug like. "Like this?" The mirror fogged with his breath.

Ezio rubbed his forehead; "No—Here, like this." He faced himself in the glass, leaning with his hands on the sink, staring at himself. Little silver puffs of fog appearing and disappearing on his reflection like smoke.

Leo leaned up to his side, fingers bumping against his. "And then you just say it, yes?"

Ezio nodded slowly, "Then you just say it."

Leo swallowed, it looked to have been quite difficult, and opened his mouth. He tried twice, the sound hiccupping in his throat, eyes flooding.

Ezio watched him, thinking that it looked so strange. How could something like this be so hard to do? It was only three words. He turned back to his own reflection; "I was raped."

His pupils widened, and he jerked at the startling sound of his own voice, blinking in confusion at the copies of himself reflected in the glass. The shape of the words on his lips was the most disturbing thing he'd ever seen or felt, and they left a tight, burning sensation in his chest.

Leo was staring at him in awe.

They blinked at one another, and slowly Leo turned back to his reflection, fingers curling over Ezio's tightly, and when he spoke his whole body seemed to shudder. The words a hushed whisper.

They stared at themselves, and after a long minute Ezio spoke, a choked sound, but a solid one.

"This sucks."

"It does… But—It's freeing a little. Saying it."

"It hurts."

Leo nodded and turned to his friend; "W-what happens now?"

"I don't know, Leo… I-I really don't know."

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_(**Dear bb136,**__ Here's a list of ages and birthdays for this fic. I'm sorry I wasn't clearer on it. I get really interested in story progression and I forget to mention things like that;_

_Petruccio; 17 - January 27_

_Claudia; 20 - February 14 (Claudia was a surprise for her parents, born only 11 months after Ezio =w=, and this is accurate I believe, because her birth year in game is the year after Ezio.)  
_

_Desmond; 20 - July 20 (Desmond is 7 months older than Claudia, but his birthday hasn't rolled around yet.)  
_

_Ezio; 21 - April 13_

_Shaun; 23 - February 7_

_Federico; 24 - December 19 _

_Altair; 29 - August 13_

_If you have any more questions just let me know! *love*)_

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	24. Chapter 24

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**Chapter 24; Moving On**

The first thing he said to her when he stepped into her office the next morning, the door clicking shut behind him was;

"Those bastards raped me."

Marjory blinked and watched as he crutched himself to the chair he hadn't occupied in two weeks worth of missed appointments and dropped into it as if he'd been there forever, laying his crutches in the floor beside him. He sat up straight, and his face was flushed his eyes puffy and bloodshot.

"Are you alright, Ezio?"

He nodded, rubbing his knees, "I finally did what you asked me to do, with the mirrors—But I'm getting ahead of myself." He shook his head and took a deep breath.

Marjory took her seat and clicked the record button on the voice recorder she kept on the table for all her sessions, whispering a quick introduction, Ezio's name the time and date, then opened her notebook, and bent forward, scribbling notes as he started speaking.

"Leo is here. He came to my house yesterday, surprised me. He's come to help out finding more people who had been taken like we were… We spoke for a long while and we did the mirror thing together. I didn't think it worked at first, not until later that evening, I was trying to sleep and he was beside me watching cartoons, and then it just seemed to hit us both at the same time… It was terrifying at first and we just held on to one another and cried for a long time, but then… Then—" He curled his fingers into claws. "I've never heard Leo yell like that! He is usually so quiet, he hates violence, but we were just suddenly so-so ANGRY!" He shoved his hair out of his face; "Father thought something was wrong and came into the room with this look on his face like he was going to have a fit—But we were alright, just ANGRY!"

Marjory was smiling.

"I've never looked at it like that before, I always asked myself 'why did this happen to me? What did I do to deserve this?' but that's just it, I did NOTHING to deserve this! They were j-just sick, perverted old men! Leo and I did NOTHING!"

"No, you didn't… And now that you know that, how do you feel?"

Ezio remained still for all of five seconds, his face twisted, teeth ground together, fingers flexing open and closed and his breath hitched in his throat; "It hurts… They took—" He swallowed. "They took me away from my family, and they took away everything… I-I can't be close to my father or my older brother without thinking of what those assholes did to me! Leo can't stand anybody touching him but me! And THEY did that to us!" He pointed outward at some point on the horizon that represented everything and everyone that had hurt them. "They had no right to do that! I don't feel safe _anywhere_ now because of them!" He cursed vilely in Italian and came to his feet, leaning to the side to keep most of his weight off his leg. He shoved his hood back off his head and the next fifteen minutes were nothing but enraged hand gestures and tragically beautiful syllables.

She didn't understand a word of it, but she knew the look on his face. The realization, and the desperation in his eyes. The fear, the sorrow, and the confusion. Part of her wanted to ask him to calm down and breathe, but another part of her knew that he needed this. He needed to say it, and accept it. He needed to accept the emotion, the hate, the hurt and the sadness, all of it, or else it would just continue to bottle up in him and he would never be able to heal.

This was the first and hardest step in a very long road. Some of her patients took months, years to get to this point while others never did. She knew each person was different and faced such a nightmare in different ways, but sooner or later the same thing would have to happen. They would all have to face what had happened and decide what they were going to do about it. Were they going to continue existing in limbo, or were they going to start living? And now that Ezio had taken that first step he could breathe, he could start learning how to live with this trauma instead of living under it.

She wouldn't lie to him, wouldn't sugar coat it, there would be good days where he would be able to persevere, could continue on with life in spite of everything that had happened, where he could have normalcy, and then there would be bad days where he wouldn't want to get out of bed. There would be pain, but there would be joy as well. It would not be easy, but it would be worth it. And that is what mattered.

They spent the next two hours in deep conversation. Ezio having exhausted himself and collapsed back into his chair breathing heavily with his head in his hands. She gave him some water and with a choked sob he started talking. Telling her how frustrated and ashamed he was that he couldn't be near his family without panicking, how he was so tired of feeling afraid all the time. That he missed Desmond and how horrible he felt for thinking what he had about him.

Marjory assured him it was normal, just as Leo had, and her reaffirmation drove the point home.

He told her about the barbecue, how Chief Hayes had separated him from his family and let four reporters corner him, and that if Claudia hadn't happened by he probably would have had a breakdown in front of them. And how much he despised what those reporters had done, and how Chief Hayes was a mean piece of shit!

They finished the session talking about Leo. How Ezio wanted to bring him along next time because he wanted the blonde to have someone to talk to as well. And that he wanted to bring his family in too one day, was that alright?

He left Marjory's office feeling exhausted, and it was only after he was getting into the car with Claudia that he realized the whole time he'd been in there he hadn't once reached for food from his bag, or taken the candy from that dish on the older woman's table.

"Are you alright, Ezio?" Claudia settled behind the wheel and snapped her safety belt into place.

He nodded; "I'm tired… And hungry."

"Would you like to go home and eat, or get something now?"

He thought about it for a few seconds, and glanced at the clock noticing the time, half past noon. "Do you have plans today?"

"Nope, just staying at home with you—Why, did you want to do something?" She tilted her head to the side a little in surprise. Of the times she'd taken Ezio to his appointments, he had always just wanted to go straight home afterward and sleep. Of course, this time had been different from the beginning. He'd been eager to see Marjory. And he'd seemed to give off an unstable energy.

Claudia had been worried he was having a mental break at first, but sitting in the waiting room there, she'd been able to pick up on his emotion, the rage and relief. It was like ESP she rationalized she'd always been able to do it when he was near. She supposed it had something to do with how close they were in age and that they'd grown up basically as twins.

He nodded. "Can we have lunch? I-I think I want to be out today… I need a change."

She smiled; "Change is good."

The streets were crowded, lunch traffic was always horrible in this part of town, but Claudia was Claudia, and she had inherited a bit of road rage from one of their parents, she didn't know which one. Slapping the steering wheel and honking the horn when cars tried to pull out in front of her.

Surprisingly Ezio wasn't intimidated by the curses, he found it a little amusing.

"HEY ASSHOLE IN THE SUBURBAN! IF YOU'RE GOING TO TURN OFF YOU USE THE SIGNAL! _Bastardo!"_

Claudia's favorite curse seemed to be 'Bitch' and she spoke loudly to other drivers, even though they couldn't hear her. Pointing and glaring at them with pursed lips and narrowed eyes behind too large sunglasses.

A Pontiac darted in front of her and she slammed her hand on the horn; "YOU DID _NOT_ JUST CUT ME OFF! YOU BITCH! OH MY GOD!" Another car tried to squeeze in front of her and she revved the engine; **"NO! **MY TURN! **ME!"**

Ezio felt himself giggling.

She growled like an angry cat; "Ezio, when we pass that guy, give him the finger!"

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	25. Chapter 25

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**Chapter 25; Kung-Fu Fighting**

Once, maybe twice a month Malik and Hadiya asked for Altair to baby-sit the children while they went out on a date.

On those days Altair called Desmond because Desmond was, at heart, still a child and Malik's kids actually liked and listened to him as opposed to when Altair had to watch them and all they wanted to do was make large dark eyes at him, scream and eat mass quantities of sugar.

Having the younger man there meant he could stay down stairs in his room and work while Desmond played nanny and he only had to check on them once or twice or if there was excessive yelling.

Tonight Desmond had brought Finding Nemo, Beauty and the Beast and promised Saree and Kalila they could paint his fingernails and make him eat tiny little tea biscuits with powdered sugar on them.

And Altair had decided he was going to take a bath.

He usually showered, but sometimes, you just had to take a bath and lay there in the water and make a production of stress relief.

At least, that's what he was intending to do. Stretch out in the tub, hike his knees to his chin and bliss out for an hour or two…

But then, as he was running the water in the tub and fishing some clean underwear out of his drawer he noticed a little figure standing at his elbow watching him.

He almost pissed himself, whirling around and staring downward at the little miniature Malik. "G-Gadil, what—Why aren't you upstairs watching movies?"

"It's girls' movies… He didn't bring anything interesting."

Altair swallowed nervously. He had THINGS laid out in the bathroom, and the tub was almost full.

"Uncle Altair… You know how to fight, right?"

He nodded slowly.

"Can you teach me?"

"You do know your father can fight as well."

Gadil obviously didn't believe it and crossed his arms; "I asked YOU."

"Is that boy not leaving you alone?"

Gadil shook his head; "I'm going to have to make him bleed to shut him up."

Altair chuckled, Gadil was always a practical kid. He crouched and maneuvered the boy's fists into defensive positions then mocked the stance himself. "Aim for the nose. There are more blood vessels closer to the surface in the nose and mouth than anywhere else in the face… How old is this boy?"

"His name is David and he's nine."

Altair held a hand up to about six inches taller than Gadil.

"Taller."

Two more inches.

Gadil nodded.

"Okay… First off, don't hit him on school property. You've only got a week of school left, he's not worth getting expelled over…"

Gadil's eyes widened; "I could get expelled?"

"Yeah, but that's why you wait until he leaves to get on the bus or his parents' car. If you're off school property the teachers can't do anything about it. You won't get in trouble." He took a little fist and flexed it again, curling it until the heel of his hand was presented. "That said, you want to use this part of your hand and try to hit him right here." He touched his own face, the bit of skin where lower lip and chin met. "It will tear his septum loose… That little flap of skin below your teeth. Or it'll split his lip. Don't try to get his nose or you could hit too hard and shove the bone into his brain and kill him. Aim for that part of his lip." He took the other fist, "You can hit his nose with either a straight on punch, or hit downward across the bridge of his nose. That'll make him bleed."

He mocked the motions with his own fists, slowly, gently, then held up a finger and darted into the bathroom to turn the tap off, and came back, shutting the door behind him. He crouched and held up his hands again; "Try it, upward motion with the heel of your hand, like you're pushing on the elevator gate. Hard as you can." Three or four smacks against his palm and Gadil had the basic idea. "You know how to punch right?"

Gadil nodded… Then shook his head.

"Right, keep your fists close to you." He demonstrated; "Don't let your wrist bend, keep it straight. And let your shoulder follow the movement." He coached the boy to smack his palm a few times, corrected his stance and let him do it again; "Never over extend your arm… And if all else fails, kick him in the balls."

Gadil made a face, but grinned at the same time.

"Don't kick him unless the punching doesn't work. And if you do, run like hell afterward."

Gadil nodded and pushed his new glasses up on his nose. "Uncle Altair?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you have any kung-fu movies down here? Desmond's scaring me 'cause he's crying over Finding Nemo."

"Since when do you like kung-fu movies?"

Gadil went pink in the face and looked at the floor from the corner of his eye. "Dad has one and I borrowed it to watch 'cause I was bored yesterday, since I caught his cold…" He coughed pathetically in a way that was obviously faked. "But there was only a little fighting at the beginning and then the man and woman started wrestling then Dad's eyes got really big and he screamed and took it away."

Altair felt for a moment like his brain had been deep fried.

"Do you have any?"

"Nnnnno—No… Uh—I have Lost in Space, how does that sound?"

"Okay, as long as it isn't a girls' movie." He took the DVD Altair handed to him. "Thanks."

Altair watched him go and locked the door behind him, grinning deviously. So, Malik had 'kung-fu' movies? Fancy that. After the big prude had made such a big deal that Altair had a few pieces of fetish gear in his closet!

Altair hummed as he disappeared into the bathroom and hoped the water hadn't gotten too cold.

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When Malik and Hadiya returned late that night Saree, Kalila and Zafir were asleep on the couches and chair, and Desmond was sitting in the floor wearing a frilly pink and yellow hat and eating popcorn with Gadil while they watched Lost in Space.

Malik still wasn't feeling well, and grumbled as he shuffled to the kitchen for a drink.

Hadiya sat on the edge of the couch and pushed her hair over her shoulder, hunched forward watching intently as the Jupiter Two crashed on an alien planet.

Malik peered around the corner at them and after calling to his wife a second time without her answering, he just sighed and went to the couch, bending and carefully scooping Zafir against his shoulder, a delicate balancing act between his right arm and the stump of his left. Thankfully when Zafir was asleep he was like a koala bear and if he clung to something, you couldn't pry him away from it. Once the little boy was in his bed Malik slid out of his sweater so he didn't have to struggle with those tiny little fingers. He made three trips, taking his children one by one to bed, then dropped into the chair Kalila had been sprawled bonelessly across and fell asleep himself.

Altair came up a little while after that for a snack while he was working and stopped at the edge of the couch his nose wrinkled up at the movie, pretending not to notice the hat or the nail polish; "Des."

He grunted and turned from the TV.

"You guys be here early tomorrow. That lead I told you about? It's good. I need your help with a few things before we get started on this shit."

"Okay." He sounded professionally excited, Altair reasoned it was just because he was still focused on the movie. "Should I tell Shaun to wear walking shoes?'

"Yeah, you're gonna need 'em."

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	26. Chapter 26

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**Chapter 26; In the Line of Duty**

Ezio didn't think having his cast removed on June third would be anything to get excited over… Until the doctors actually cut the thing off and he realized he could actually scratch the limb that had been torturing him for the past month and a half. And then it was as if angels were singing in a heavenly choir and the earth moved beneath him.

He scratched until there were pink lines from his nails on his calf and ankle, then scratched some more.

Federico chuckled and asked if he had fleas.

The doctor told him to use the crutches for a few days and to gradually start putting his weight on the limb, that there might be some aching or soreness where the break was for a little while until he built the muscle back up.

And then Ezio was introduced to something he would later obsess over…

Clean socks and Vans.

The shoes were brown, a little bulky looking, but they fit, they had excellent arch support, and fantastic soles he could walk forever in and never wear down. The shoe would fall apart before that sole wore down! Unlike the shoes he'd worn before, these, he decided, were the one thing that made the reality of his freedom sink in.

He had shoes he could walk forever in! He could leave the house whenever he pleased, and go wherever he pleased!

"I have work at two, Ezio, so we've got just enough time to grab something to eat on our way."

He nodded, feeling oddly like a giraffe using his crutches like extra feet. "I don't really want to go home yet. What time do you get off work?"

"Not until after six."

"That sucks."

Federico rolled his eyes and gave him a playful shove. "I doubt you want to hang around for four hours… Claudia and Father work until six also, and Mama drives home with them… Petruccio is out with friends shopping for graduation Saturday and won't be back until late." He scratched his head. "And there isn't time to drive all the way to Uncle Mario's and back." Federico stopped dead in his tracks a hand to his forehead, drumming his fingers on his brow; "What about Desmond? I'm sure he'd enjoy spending some time with you."

Ezio nodded. A week of 'Change' had boosted his confidence a little. There were still moments that it was difficult, but it was getting better. And thoughts of seeing Desmond weren't as daunting as they had been before.

Federico fished in his pockets for his cell phone and dialed Desmond's number.

Five minutes later Ezio was climbing out of Federico's little car at the train station… Alone.

"Are you sure you'll be alright?" He looked wary.

Ezio nodded. "I'm going to have to do this sooner or later. Might as well be now."

"You have your phone? Your wallet?"

"Yeah… I'll call you when I get there."

"Okay… Have fun." He let out a low, wary whistle; "Wait until Mama hears about this!"

Ezio shut the door and stood there for a few minutes watching Federico merge back into traffic and drive slowly away.

The street was loud, people moving slowly, cars kicking up exhaust and honking intermittently. It all seemed overwhelming for a few minutes, and Ezio just stood there breathing deeply. Terribly aware that he was ALONE for the first time since he'd been reunited with his family. Fear of never seeing them again felt like a lead weight in his gut, but he forced himself onward anyway. He struck out up the stairs with his jaw set, thinking he must look ridiculous. He paid his train fare and stood on the platform staring up and down the tracks and out over the city. The birds swooping this way and that, pigeons fluttering in mottled black white and gray flocks. Cars and people shuttling back and forth like ants. The longer he watched, the more aware he became that there was a sort of rhythm to it. A beat.

Ezio closed his eyes and seemed to melt into it.

It was like a heartbeat. A pulse... Like music.

_LIFE._

The train arrived a few minutes later and he dodged the rush of passengers as they filed on.

A man in a business suit gave Ezio his seat.

The crush of bodies seemed stifling. The smell, the proximity.

Ezio felt himself falling into habit, eyes seeking out faces in the crowd, his mind whirring. Noting posture, the angle of their gaze—

_Stop it… _he hissed at himself. _The only reason you're doing this to yourself is because it's familiar, it's what you expect… People are not always what you expect._

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, resting his brow against his knuckles where they held his crutches up like a shield in front of him. He focused on that tingle beneath his skin. The ebb and flow of the world around him. That pulse and tried to ignore the fear.

He slowly became conscious of something within this sensation, this awareness of all life around him. He could feel the people in the train car with him. Like a river's current. Subtle, but undeniable. He could single out their voices in the crowd, and pick up on their emotions.

Hesitantly, afraid of what might happen, he honed in on one of the men he'd picked out in the car with him. Standing about half way to the second set of doors at the back of the car watching the city slip past.

The man felt tired… That lowering of his lids and the slow glance he'd thrown Ezio's way hadn't been desire, hadn't been the beginnings of lust… The man was just tired, harmless.

He opened his eyes slowly, glancing around through his lashes, the sensations flipping by as fast as his eyes moved over each face in the crowd.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Pushing the fear down, breathing it out.

There was no reason to be afraid here. Nobody was going to hurt him. Even the three angry men at the front of the car were just angry, not sadists. They were just angry.

Ezio leaned back in his seat and let out an audible sigh. Blinking at the brightness of the sun through the windows. He cleared his throat and turned to a woman and her young daughter sitting two seats away. The little girl smiled at him and waved then announced she was four years old.

Ezio felt something warm building in his chest and wished her a happy birthday.

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Desmond was not alone when Ezio stepped off the train. He was standing beside the perturbed redhead he recognized from before. It was somehow a very proud feeling that he'd made it all the way across town on the train by himself. And when Desmond came up to him grinning brightly, he crushed the other young man in a hug.

"Have a nice trip?"

"Yeah, actually, I did."

They exited the station and almost as soon as their feet hit the pavement Desmond was talking, his hands moving as he spoke. Shaun made a disgusted noise in his throat and fished in his coat, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He puffed irritably as they walked.

Ezio couldn't really understand a thing Desmond was saying. He picked out a few words; 'biography' 'writing' 'stairwell' 'hungry' 'hamburgers' 'stupid ginger' 'stop blowing smoke in my face' thrown willy-nilly among a fantastical patchwork of obscenities.

And all the while Shaun hissed sarcasms, thinly veiled innuendo and puffed smoke rings in Desmond's general direction.

Desmond growled at him and ducked into a coffee shop, showing Shaun his middle finger as he held the door for Ezio. He ordered three coffees and a cup of tea with extra honey. Rolling his eyes when Ezio blinked at him curiously; "We've got to put up with Shaun all day, this will at least shut him up for a few minutes." He paid and they were off again.

It wasn't until He poked his head into another shop and called out; "Hey, Malik!" to a rather stunned looking man with dark hair, a beardy patch on his chin and one arm, that Ezio realized they probably weren't going to the taller brunette's apartment.

Malik scrambled a little through the swinging gate of the workroom and darted from behind his counter, waving to regain Desmond's attention as he stepped back out onto the sidewalk and headed off again. "Hey! HEY!"

Shaun tugged Desmond's hood to stop him.

Malik pushed the door open and stuck his head out, jerking his chin at Ezio. "Who is this?"

Desmond grinned proudly; "This is Ezio!"

Malik blinked and looked him up and down. Then with a sigh and a downward curl of his eyebrows; "I don't want him falling down the stairs. Last thing I need is someone breaking their neck." His scowl increased, but Ezio felt it was probably just a ploy to mask his concern.

Shaun blinked curiously but they followed Malik anyway, back past the front counter of the print shop, through the workroom past complicated looking printing and binding machines and the smell of ink and adhesive.

A small boy in a little gray hooded sweatshirt and jeans over his diaper was standing in the door to the office, leaning his chin against a wooden safety gate looking bored. When he noticed the three young men he perked up, watching them curiously. He scowled severely and slapped the gate, leveling a tiny little finger at them. He shouted shrilly in Arabic at Malik and danced in place.

Malik spoke in agreement, grinning at him as he passed.

Desmond waved at him smiling.

The little boy squealed, his nose wrinkling up, front teeth shining and continued scowling at them.

Malik rolled his eyes and opened another door, waiting as they filed out of the workroom and into a rather bland, run-of-the-mill looking storage room. Concrete floors, brown walls, boxes of paper and card stock. A garbage can filled with empty toner and ink cartridges… And there was an elevator. An old thing with a wooden gate on the front instead of a door.

Malik sneezed into his shoulder and pushed it open ushering them inside with an agitated look on his face. "Keep your hands, feet, arms and heads inside the car at all times, unless you don't want them anymore, then by all means, go ahead." He grinned darkly when Shaun pulled his hands under his chin, obviously enjoying torturing him, then pulled the gate down again with a crash.

The elevator shuddered ominously and Shaun made a noise in his throat, crouching with his arms out to his sides.

Malik cackled and returned inside shaking his head.

Desmond jolted Shaun in the ribs with his elbow; "What's wrong with you? Calm down, this thing is old, it moves slow."

Shaun slowly composed himself; "I think I'll be taking the stairs from now on."

Ezio thought the ride was rather pleasant. "Where are we going?"

"Work."

Ezio felt his insides tremble a little… didn't Desmond work with Altair?

The elevator shuddered to a stop and Desmond pushed the gate up, holding it as Ezio walked off and pretending to drop it as Shaun darted off.

"You're such a pussy!" Desmond let the gate drop shut and shook his head, leading them down a thin hall like space butted on the end by a window and light bulbs in cages in the ceiling.

There was a door at the end of the hall, and through it, Ezio found himself in a room, one wall was all windows, looking out over the back alley and a rooftop toward the lake. Vines hung from baskets set at equal intervals along the top ledge of the window, and little tables sat around covered in flowering plants, bigger pots in the corners, full of tall ferns.

It was very beautiful. He wanted the little roof box he had at home to look like this in the summer.

The interior of the place looked natural, off white walls with dark wood trim. Hardwood floors and rugs with intricate patterns of dark red, black and white. There were paintings on the walls, enlarged photographs. He recognized a few of the newer looking ones, a lump forming in his throat. Black and whites of Ceuta and Chefchaouen, street corners, the market place. The old fort wall in Ceuta.

And then Desmond had thrown open a door and insinuated himself into an office space. Announcing in a rather formal sounding voice that he'd brought coffee and Altair had better be grateful because it was the expensive kind, not that shit from the diner on the corner—

Altair was sitting behind a wooden desk, hunched over a stack of paperwork. He looked up with a tired, but focused look on his face; "Thank you for the coffee, but you're still fifteen minutes late." He took his cup and pulled back the tab, lifting it toward his mouth, and his eyes flicked to Ezio.

He gave a little twitch, but was otherwise unfazed, taking a long drink of the coffee, eyebrows raising. He sat the cup down and stood, eyes widening.

Desmond grinned and motioned Ezio into the room; "Come on, he won't bite!"

Altair wiped a hand over his mouth; "I wasn't expecting company."

"His family's all out today and he didn't want to go home alone."

The older man nodded and stepped backward, motioning to his chair. "You can –uh—You can sit down if you want."

There was a certain thickness to the air as Ezio giraffed his way over and sat down, mumbling a quiet thank you.

Shaun was already setting his laptop up on Desmond's desk, usurping the workspace since the younger male was occupied and couldn't object. "I fail to see how this is supposed to work, since we were told there would be heavy footwork today." Shaun squared his shoulders. "I even borrowed a pair of 'good shoes' as you so delicately put it." He stared at Desmond from the corner of his eye and motioned to the shoes he was wearing.

Ezio recognized them as a pair of Eli's, black and gray with a thin red stripe on the sides.

Altair cut in before they could start arguing again. "Actually this could work. I don't have to petition the FBI to work with Leo if he's here." He walked quickly around the desk to his filing cabinet and pulled open the top drawer. He glanced at Ezio warily; "I don't want to ask you to do this if it'll make you uncomfortable."

Ezio had discovered the massaging feature in the chair and was slumped down with his eyes heavily lidded. His voice came out almost robotic because of the vibrations; "What do I have to do?"

Altair scratched his head; "I can't divulge much about the cases, but I'd be showing you age progression photos of people, and you'd be telling me if you'd ever seen them before. And if you had, where… if you're not sure, you can think about it, or even call your parents to talk if you—"

"I don't mind… If it could help then I'll do it."

Altair was still a moment, then sighed and spoke in a low, but calm voice; "Let's say I show you a picture of someone you have seen… And it was in a not-so-good place, would you still be able to tell me, or would it make you uncomfortable. The last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable, or put your health in jeopardy."

He thought about it for a few seconds, gnawing gently at his lip. Altair made a valid point. "I'll call my father and see what he thinks." He sat up and rifled through his bag for his phone, manipulating the buttons like Claudia had shown him.

Altair turned back to the files, shutting the drawer for the moment and looking at something Shaun was showing him on his computer. Desmond dropped into his chair and pretended not to be listening to what Ezio said.

Giovanni answered on the third ring and Ezio could hear easy chatter from his father's end of the line. Claudia was talking, rattling off a list of numbers.

"Ezio, how are you? The doctor's appointment went well I hope."

Claudia paused in her recitation and called out a hello making an exaggerated kissing noise at him.

"I'm fine, tell Claudia I said hello back… The cast came off, I didn't know my leg itched so much… But I-I've got a serious question—Federico called you, yes?"

"Yes, he did. How was the train?"

"Good, and that's why I'm calling. I'm with Desmond at work now and… Well…" He sighed; "Altair thinks I might be able to do what Leo is doing. Helping to find people who were taken like we were. He wants me to help them."

Giovanni was quiet for a few seconds then; "May I speak to him?"

His brow wrinkled curiously, but he held the phone out to Altair; "He wants to talk to you." He slumped back down into the chair with a quiet hum.

Altair took the phone and exchanged quick greetings with Giovanni then his eyebrows scrunched together and he became all business. "Yes, I did ask if he would like to help… I can't get into too much detail about the cases, but I'm investigating a few disappearances similar to Ezio's."

Desmond and Shaun were watching him intently by this point.

"I can't legally tell you that, Mr. Auditore… I know I'm being vague and I'm sorry… All I would ask of him is to look at some photographs, nothing of a graphic nature, and see if he can identify the people in them— No, I wouldn't do that… Yes, but, speaking as his son not as a Private Investigator, my father is an asshole and I'm sorry he did that… Yes, Ezio said he wanted to help, but I still feel better knowing that you know and he's been properly informed of what he's doing and what could— Well, if he should recognize someone, it might make him uncomfortable, and I don't want to compromise his health—What? No, I wasn't implying th—" Altair turned the color of fresh brick; "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

Desmond's eyebrows shot up and he whistled low in his throat, spinning slowly in his chair and passing Ezio a surprised look.

Ezio suddenly wanted to know what his father had said to Altair.

Altair passed the phone back to Ezio and slunk out of the room for a few minutes like a dog with its tail between its legs.

Claudia was giggling in the background; "I always wondered where I'd gotten it!"

Giovanni cleared his throat; "Ezio?"

"Yeah… What'd you say to him?"

"It doesn't matter, what matters is that you understand what he's asking you to do."

Ezio sighed deeply and turned the chair around in slow circles out of nervousness; "I understand that it won't be easy. That if I should come across someone I know I'll have to tell how I know them, from where and what kind of condition they were in… I'll have to tell him, tell them about what I've been through. I know that… But if it means I can help bring someone home then I'll do it." He lowered his voice, whispering in Italian and hoping neither of the two other young men in the room could hear him; _"Having a bad day isn't so awful… I've lived through quite a few of them. I'll have bad days in the future as well, but I'm working through it. I'm learning how to live with this… I was able to spend the entire morning with Federico and didn't once get scared. I rode the train today by myself! Yes, it was scary at first, but I did it! And it was fun! This is worth it and if pushing my boundaries a little more means I can bring those people home to a safe place, give them the chance to overcome what they've been through then you had better believe I'll do it!"_

Giovanni was quiet, then let his breath out in a low sound; "Alright… Alright. I'm sorry, you're a lot stronger than I gave you credit."

_"I would hope so! I'm an Auditore! We can do anything! My baby brother beat cancer for God's sake! If only I could be as strong!"_

Giovanni chuckled; "Speaking of Petruccio, I'm having trouble finding a Graduation present for him. Any ideas?"

"Plenty. I'll make a list."

Claudia made a surprised little noise in her throat; "Dad, the time! We've got to have this done like, five minutes ago!"

Giovanni cursed under his breath and his chair squeaked; "Ezio, I'm sorry, I have to go, we'll come by and get you on the way to pick up your mother this evening."

They shared quick goodbyes and Ezio hid his phone away in his bag again, automatically looking for a package of chips or candy because his stomach was starting to feel empty.

Altair came back a few minutes later pulling on a hooded jacket and leaning against the doorframe to shove his feet into his shoes; "Guys, come on… It's two-thirty, I'm hungry."

Desmond was on his feet; "Burgers!"

Shaun bowed his head; "Have you not eaten enough meat this week? I swear I think you've gone through two cows already!"

"I'm a carnivore!"

"Human beings are OMNIVORES… You're supposed to have balanced meals. Where's your meat and two vedge?"

Desmond scowled, his lower lip poked out; "If that was another gay joke, it was seriously not funny."

Altair swatted the back of his head, letting out a sigh of discontent. He jerked his thumb into the hallway and turned his eyes to Ezio; "You can come too if you want, or you can hang out here."

He climbed to his feet, limping a few steps picking up his bag—

"You can leave that here, nobody will bother it. Promise."

His stomach did a cold little jolt… His bag hadn't been out of his sight since Petruccio had given it to him. It had all his food in it, what if something happened and he had to fend for himself for days, weeks, maybe even the rest of his life and he didn't have his bag?

Shaun and Desmond were arguing loudly as they stomped toward the elevator and Altair was still standing there in the doorway looking calm and patient.

"There's a restaurant just down the street, we'll be back in an hour."

Nine years ago, walking to school he'd given a homeless woman the lunch his mother had packed, believing he would be home in a mere eight hours and his life would continue on as it had for the past eleven years of his life…

Altair's head tilted slightly to the right and his left hand lifted, the gap of his missing finger looking somehow odd. Ezio remembered the crunch the hammer had made when that finger had been lost.

"I'll be right there beside you the whole time."

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He stepped forward, ignoring his crutches where they were leaned against a bookcase, and closed his hand over Altair's.

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	27. Chapter 27

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_(DING! DING! DING! WE HAVE A WINNER! Points to **Tessay** for guessing correctly what Altair's dad's name means, and the reason he was discharged from the military! Palmer means 'Pilgrim' more specifically it refers to the palm branch carried by a Christian pilgrim traveling to the holy lands. It can likewise be translated as 'Crusader'. And Hayes refers to a hedged in secret area... Also, Altair was discharged because of Don't Ask Don't Tell.) _

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**Chapter 27; Glory Days**

Saturday just seemed to pounce on them out of nowhere.

Petruccio looked nervous, pacing back and forth in the kitchen mumbling his speech. He'd refused to let anyone hear it beforehand, which had driven Maria, Claudia and secretly Giovanni completely insane for the past two weeks.

For the last week of May Petruccio had been trying to decide what to wear to the ceremony. One day he'd sworn he was going to wear nothing but swimming trunks under his gown. The next he'd laughingly told Eli he was going to streak across the stage after they'd given him his diploma. She said she'd do it too if he did and he'd turned red and said he wasn't serious. The third day he told his mother he was going to just wear a t-shirt and jeans, and five minutes later, after she'd scowled him and told him in no uncertain terms that he wasn't going to step foot out of the house in a t-shirt and jeans on graduation day, and after four days of changing and displaying outfits reluctantly to his mother and older sister he decided he'd wear slacks, a black shirt and a red tie.

And now, there he was, pacing back and forth in his black clothes slapping his tie against his hand in a rhythm as he went quietly through his speech, his face pale and his eyes terribly wide.

Federico was there with Katie, and Uncle Mario was peering into the fridge looking for leftovers.

Petruccio was slightly overwhelmed. He wasn't ready to get up in front of so many people and speak. This was one reason he liked birds better than people. Birds didn't suffer stage fright. And honestly, he shouldn't be experiencing it himself since the first twelve years of his life had been nothing but hospitals and hordes of doctors. But this just felt different. He was healthy now, nobody pictured him as the sick little boy he'd been. He was almost six feet tall, he'd played basketball for the school, hadn't been too good at it, and joined Math and Science League. He'd placed second in the state science fair.

His hands tangled in his hair; "Oh, God, what if I get up there and forget my speech! I'll look like an idiot!"

"Calm down, little brother. It's just Graduation, no sweat!" Federico chuckled. "I was so drunk at my graduation I almost puked on the principal's shooooo—" He winced, glancing sideways at his uncle, who'd lifted his head from the fridge and scowled at him.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that." Mario ducked his head into the fridge again; "But I'm one to talk… I'd smoked half a joint before mine."

Federico smiled uncomfortably.

Petruccio whined and stomped from the room still gripping his hair.

Ezio scooped his younger brother into a hug when he tried to walk past, half in a panic. "You're worrying too much!"

"I'm gonna forget the whole speech and look like a total moron in front of everybody!"

"If you forget it, just read it from your notes!" He held Petruccio out at arms length and looked into his face; "You did write it down, didn't you?"

"Yes, I wrote it down… But I have it memorized! I don't want to look stupid by having my face bent over cards when I'm supposed to be speaking to the whole senior class as well as the parents and I… I think I'm gonna puke." He pushed away from Ezio and darted upstairs.

Maria and Giovanni came down a few minutes later, Maria fixing her earrings, Giovanni fiddling with his camera. "Is it supposed to be this blurry?"

"You've got it on close up." Maria pointed to the magnifying glass at the edge of the display. "Where's Petruccio?"

"Throwing up."

"He's nervous," Federico was popping grapes into his mouth two at a time. "You remember how Claudia was at her graduation, and she didn't even have to give a speech!"

Maria sighed and gave her head a shake; "Find some antacids I'll go get him."

Katie pulled a tube of Rolaids out of her purse and handed them over, stealing a few grapes from Federico as he was lifting them to his lips.

Fifteen minutes later, Petruccio and his mother came back down stairs, Petruccio looking as if he were being lead to his death.

Maria narrowed her eyes playfully at her husband; "He gets this from you."

Giovanni just chuckled and ushered his family out of the house.

The drive was slow going, but it didn't seem to take long enough to Petruccio. He was frantically reading over his speech for the twenty-first time that day when suddenly he let out a strangled scream. "IT'S AWFUL! MY SPEECH IS AWFUL!"

"It is not." Giovanni said in a melodic sort of voice.

"Oh, how would you know, you haven't heard it!" He groaned; "I'm going to look like an idiot! And there's no time to rewrite it!"

Ezio patted him on the head sympathetically.

Claudia was already at the auditorium, having come directly from the bank where she'd been working morning shift. She fussed with Petruccio's tie and asked him why he was wearing a black belt that it would look better with a red one, and then seemed to produce one out of thin air.

It would later come to light that she'd paid a young man working in the sound box fifteen dollars and taken his.

The room filled quickly. Even for such a small private school's graduating class there seemed to be hundreds of people there. And all too soon Petruccio was whisked away back stage by an usher, and he looked miserably back over his shoulder at his parents as he went.

Uncle Mario disappeared but showed up again a few minutes later grinning deviously.

Ezio sat between his father and Katie, a neat sandwich in his mind.

The starting proceedings of the ceremony were tedious. Stand up, sit down, stand up, sit down. Sing the Anthem, salute the flag. Say a prayer, meet the sponsors. The Mayor gave a speech. The principal told a few jokes and gave a speech, then the vice principal asked for a moment of silence in thanks that no student in the senior class had died before graduation. The school alma matter was sung, the choir performed, the band played… Ezio dozed off for a few minutes and was woken by his father nudging him in the ribs to stand while Pomp and Circumstance played and the seniors marched down the aisles and took their seats.

Petruccio looked better, red in the face and grinning stupidly, his walk just a little too loose.

Ezio wondered absently if Uncle Mario hadn't slipped him something back stage.

The principal spoke again, and then Petruccio was climbing to his feet—He stumbled on the edge of his gown as he climbed on stage, and recovered quickly, bowing dramatically to the crowd and earning a round of laughter from his classmates. He cleared his throat and picked through his note cards, paused and gave the tassel of his mortarboard a flip giggling.

And beside him Giovanni, still grinning proudly, whined quietly between his teeth in a helpless little titter and looked around nervously; "Oh, God, he's drunk."

Petruccio cleared his throat again. "I wrote a speech…" He held up his note cards. "But I think we're all a little tired of speeches by now."

Half the seniors cheered and at least as many people in the crowd clapped.

"I can feel Mr. Stevens' glare right here—" He poked himself in the back of the head and made a noise like a gunshot between his teeth. "—so I know that he's not too happy about this… And I might regret it later, but;" He snapped the rubber band around the cards and gave them a toss into the crowd. "I think I'm just gonna wing it." He gripped the edges of the podium and searched out his family in the crowd. "I met my older brother Ezio for the first time about a month ago… I know that sounds kind of crazy, but he'd been missing for nine and a half years, so this was… It's nice to have him back." He waved. "I don't know if any of you have been through something like that, but it really makes you appreciate your family. As the old adage goes; 'You don't know what you've got 'till it's gone'. I think that's more than just a saying, or lyrics to a song. I mean, look back at the last twelve years of our lives. We're not gonna get that back… And how many of you—" He looked at his classmates; "—regret things you've done? How many of us are going to look back on our senior year, five years from now, ten years from now, and say; 'Why didn't I pay more attention? Why didn't I try harder?' 'Why did I spend so much time worrying over such stupid- STUPID things?'" He pulled his lower lip between his teeth and nibbled it a minute, then turned to the crowd; "Mr. Stevens said in his speech earlier that we've got our whole lives ahead of us now… Well, he's wrong. Our lives are already in progress, we've been dieing since the day we were born, and if I can offer any bit of advice, or encouragement to everyone here, not just the senior class, or the incoming senior class… It's got to be something I myself have only learned in the past week, just watching and being around my older brother… Don't wait. Go out there and grab life. You only get one and there's no sense living it in fear…" He laughed; "Like the Aerosmith song goes; '_Sing with me, sing for the years. Sing for the laughter. Sing for the tears. Sing with me it's just for today. Maybe tomorrow the good Lord will take you away.'_ I never got that before, but I do now— Don't let the fear of tomorrow take away your today." He stood there for a few seconds, lips between his teeth then leaned close to the mic and said quickly; "And no, Dad, I'm not drunk. Elizabeth asked me out and I said yes."

Half the class, specifically those sitting around the redhead started shouting and cheering and Petruccio fled the stage before Principal Stevens could grab him for not using the speech that had been approved.

It took a few minutes to calm those boys and girls who'd been cheering enough to let the valedictorian at the podium and before she started speaking, she pushed her blonde hair behind her ear and said in a nervous voice; "Don't know how I can follow that one." She widened her eyes and got a quiet laugh from the crowd.

Ezio watched intently now that the less exciting bits of the ceremony were over with and his father had stopped looking around nervously. He'd never been to a graduation before. It was kind of exciting… Aside from all the speeches and standing and sitting and standing and sitting. Part of him had wanted to start humming the Chicken Dance.

After the valedictorian gave her speech, commenting on the roles hats played in one's lifetime. From an infant's little hospital stocking cap, all the way to a policeman's cap, or a fire fighter's and soldier's helmet.

And then there were names, people walking across the stage… And number six on the list, Petruccio was still grinning stupidly and didn't look at all surprised when the Principal teased him with his diploma, holding it out of his reach and shaking a finger at him before he handed it over. There was a laugh for that, and after shaking almost nine different hands Petruccio stumbled back to his seat.

The basketball team all opened their gowns and showed off their senior jerseys, and one kid, Eric somebody, Ezio didn't catch his last name, shucked off his robe and hat and revealed himself in full Spiderman garb, complete with silly string for webbing. He did a back flip off the stage.

Eli pulled open her own gown and shouted loudly; "HEY, SHAUN!" as she started across the stage. It seems she'd decided to wear a skirt and a t-shirt with the Union Jack on it instead of streaking as she'd claimed.

And Katie's hand clamped down on Ezio's arm. He turned to her laughing—

Federico was on his feet, her other hand tight in his, eyes wide and panicked… And there was a growing puddle in the floor beneath her chair.

Petruccio decided there was nothing that broke up the monotony of a graduation faster than his oldest brother calling out right in that silent moment between names;

"No, she did not _pee_ herself, Ezio! Her _water_ just _broke!"_

Yep, nothing like a lady going into labor in the middle of your graduation ceremony. Especially when that lady was your brother's girlfriend.

Twenty-five minutes later Petruccio was standing in a hospital waiting room still in his gown, Eli and her older brother at his shoulder while his father paced nervously, rubbing his stomach. Ezio was nibbling a package full of cookies and offering some to Federico who had his hands in his hair and was working a groove in the floor from his pacing, all the while trying to ignore how their mother kept asking every nurse who passed if they knew where the hospital priest was.

Shaun started nervously patting himself down for cigarettes and seemed to just disappear.

Claudia returned with coffee she passed to her mother as well as a report; "I found the priest. He's stuck in traffic, but I've got a notary… Mama I don't see how this is going to work, the blood test takes days!"

And Federico stopped his pacing; "Blood test? What blood test?"

Maria waved him off; "It's for the permits and licenses."

"For what!"

She lowered her voice; _"Federico, I understand Katie wanting to fit into a dress, but there comes a point where vanity has to be put aside and you must draw the line! And this is that point! Now, the paperwork can be taken care of afterward, God doesn't care about paperwork anyway… All we have to do is wait for the priest. All you have to do is repeat the vows and God will be ha—"_

_"It's nothing to do about a dress, Mama, really. Katie and I don't want to get married—"_

_"You have to get married for the baby! It deserves a mother **and **father, Federico!"_

_"I won't marry her just for the baby! That is unfair for both of us!"_

_"What about the baby! Is nobody else thinking of what is fair to the child?"_

_"Mama, that's **all **I'm thinking about**. **You're being irrational, just please listen to me!"_

_"Really? I'm being irrational!"_ She flapped her hands;_ "How is ignoring this, ignoring your responsibilities thinking of the child's best interest?_

_"Mother."_

_"This could have been avoided! You would not be in such a compromising position if you had used protection!"_

He glared at her with his mouth nothing but a tight angry line on his face.

"_You're about to be a father, Federico! Do you really want your child to be born out of wedlock? Do you** want** that little baby to be illegitimate?"_

_"I'm begging you, Mother. PLEASE, don't say another word!"_

_"If it is not that I have failed you then what is it? I've been worrying myself to death for the past six months, ever since you brought her into our home and told us she was pregnant, wondering why my son—the boy I gave birth to and raised—Wouldn't at least TRY to make an honest woman out of a girl he's gotten in such a predicament. Is it my fault? Did I not teach you better than this? Are you just trying to get out of your responsibilities? Why won't you marry her?"_ She grabbed his arm and tried to turn his face toward her. _"Is it money?"_

He shook his head and tried to pull away from her.

_"You know damned well your father and I would have given you the clothes off our backs to help… Is it your pride? Too ashamed to ask for help?"_

_"Mother, you don't know what you're talking about."_

_"Then what is it? Explain it to me! Tell me what is so important that you would deny that baby the stable, loving family it needs?"_

_"We don't have to be married to love one another, or the baby!"_

_"If you are not married what is to stop her from catching some other man's eye and leaving you! Taking your son or daughter away with her! Or you from leaving them!"_

_"I would never—"_

_"You have promised nothing to one another! There is no sanctity in this!"_

_"If you respect me at all you will drop this!"_

_"Respect? Is that what this is about? Perhaps you don't respect this girl? Or respect the fact you've created a person with her and that person is your responsibility to guide, love and protect from now until the day you die! Just as it is my responsibility as your mother to ensure you make the right choices for your family, which it is obvious, you are not **capable** of doing!"_

_"Katie and I love one another—"_

_"Then you just don't want to be tied down so you can continue to randomly fuck women and leave them. Like a stray dog loose in the streets!"_

And something inside of Federico snapped, his face seemed to crumble and his hands became claws, tearing at his collar as if it were trying to choke him to death.

"Mama, it's not mine!"

And everything stopped.

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	28. Chapter 28

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**Chapter 28; Confessional**

Federico let out a sob and collapsed backward into a chair bent over his knees.

Maria felt cold, hollow and horrible. Her hands came up, going out to her eldest, wishing she could just erase the last five minutes from existence and try again.

He flinched and tried to pull away but she was insistent. Behind her Giovanni cursed bitterly under his breath.

"It's not that I don't want to marry her, I've asked before, m-many times, but she said no…" he raised his head, breathing deeply; "She got married a year ago to a man named Brendan. They'd known one another only a few months, and two days after the wedding he was shipped over seas… A week later he was killed— She didn't know she was pregnant… We had theory class together, and we became friends, and the more we got to know one another the more…" He scrubbed his face with his wrist and chuckled despondently; "I don't care if it's not mine, I love it anyway, I've loved it since the moment she showed me the first sonogram… I love _her_, and I want to be a father to the baby—But it's too soon to think of getting married. She's not ready— We haven't even slept together yet! And the more you push—" he pressed the heel of his hand into his forehead. "Please, Mama… Please just stop…"

Ezio leaned his head into his brother's shoulder. He thought back to the first night he'd spent with his family in the hotel, he'd thought it strange even then that Federico hadn't gone into detail about his and Katie's relationship, how long they'd been together, where they met… Now he knew why.

"You let us think you'd gotten her pregnant?" Giovanni still had a hand high on his stomach, and he was looking a little nauseous.

Federico looked up at him; "You never asked. You just assumed. And I didn't want to hear someone whispering that I was being stupid for loving this child so much even though it's not mine… Blood means nothing to me right now! I love her, and I love the baby!"

Ezio watched his father blink, then his shoulders slumped and he let out a sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Well, at least I know you're not with her for the wrong reasons… That's a relief."

A nurse walked up, a timid looking woman in a paper hairnet booties and a mask; "It looks like this is going to go faster than the doctors anticipated. We have a room you can wait in. And she's been asking for her boyfriend;" The nurse motioned to Federico; "I'm assuming it's you."

Federico nodded; "Just find the one who looks like he's going to have a nervous breakdown and nine times out of ten he's the one." He took a deep breath and let it out before he stood.

There was a small waiting room with plush couches in the back, Ezio dropped himself onto one and propped his leg up, rubbing the tenderness out as he relaxed. He wondered why his family was so anxious, in the nine years he'd lived in Morocco he'd seen twelve births, and even helped with three of them. This was nothing new to him. His father on the other hand, was still pacing, looking less tense, but still worried. Petruccio and Eli had agreed to wait for Shaun to return from his cigarette break, so there weren't as many people in the room, but the way Claudia and Mama were whispering regretfully at one another, made him nervous.

Two minutes later Federico reappeared with a paper smock pulled on over his clothes and a rather surprised expression on his face.

"Don't tell me it's here already!" Maria clapped both hands over her mouth.

Federico shook his head, "I-I just… Mama, this baby may not be mine biologically, but I want you to understa—"

Giovanni let out a sigh and turned his face to the ceiling, just breathing for a moment before he turned to his son, taking his prickly chin between his hands and forcing their eyes to meet; "You're standing here jabbering while your girlfriend is in there making grandparents of us… Go. Come back when you're a father, yes?"

He nodded, eyes widening, the shock of the statement overwhelming the joy that. despite how worried he'd been, they understood and accepted it. He disappeared quickly. Giovanni released a single amused scoff and turned to his wife; "You worried he wasn't mature enough to survive this… I think he'll do just fine."

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It was almost seven PM and all Petruccio's graduation party plans were forgotten. No storming the movie theater with his friends, no barbecue on his uncle's boat. No privacy to possibly engage Eli in those mysterious things boyfriends and girlfriends did together… Instead, he was stuffed in the back seat of his parents car with Shaun between himself and Eli, giving him sour, purposeful stares from beneath his glasses. While his parents smiled silently from the front seat, their fingers laced intimately together, Giovanni glancing up every so often to make sure Claudia's car was still behind them.

It was quiet until they made it into the kitchen and Papa started pulling down wine glasses from the cupboard.

Petruccio stared at his father when one was pressed into his hands; "Dad… What are you doing?"

Giovanni was still smiling as he spoke; "Well, the way I see it is; You're in the safety of your own home—" He handed one to Ezio, "You're under the supervision of your parents. You're not going out anywhere, you won't be driving or operating heavy machinery… You graduated High School, and became a—" He twirled a finger in the air; "— an Uncle today… I see no harm in it, do you?" He glanced at his wife who was peering into the little glass fronted wine fridge under the kitchen island. She made a zipper motion across her lips with pinched fingertips.

Petruccio didn't admit that it would not be his first drink, that he'd often found his father's lost glasses and drained them, it was strangely meaningful that this time he didn't have to sneak around, that this would be _his_.

"Shaun?" Giovanni lifted another empty glass and motioned with his eyes to Eli.

Shaun flapped a hand; "Legal drinking age is sixteen in England—"

Eli thumped her chest with a fist triumphantly, fingers twirling regally above her head.

"—She and I have beers every Friday… Might as well expose her to something a little higher classed." He craned his neck and made a pleased humming sound when Maria flashed the label at him.

Claudia wiggled in her seat expectantly, rubbing her hands together. "Coolest parents ever… Remember that, Petruccio. Coolest. Ever."

Ezio rolled his eyes at them and peeled off his jacket, tossing it over the back of his chair as he sat.

Uncle Mario arrived a few minutes later with food from every restaurant between the hospital and the house. He was singing as he came in the door, arms laden.

Shaun had his phone out and was slowly composing a text when Mario popped his head onto the Brit's shoulder, rolling his glass eye back into his head and frightening him enough to release a quick squawk and fall off his stool. He took the younger man's place before he could find his feet again and started passing out the food.

Ezio and his family stayed up most the night, laughing and talking to Federico on the phone when he called from the hospital after Katie had woken up, having fallen asleep moments after the baby was born, asking for opinions on names for the newest member of the family. Giovanni's phone was set on speaker, practically hidden in the middle of the kitchen island amid boxes and bags of tacos, burgers, pasta from a restaurant Mario frequented, pizza, Chinese and popcorn shrimps.

Claudia was busy teasing Petruccio and Eli most of the night, sitting on a stool with her face propped in her hands grinning at them, cheeks flushed from so much wine.

Shaun stood with his hips leaned against the counter drinking and every so often answering a question someone tossed his way, scowling at Mario, who still hadn't given him back his seat. The two of them were having a bit of a standoff, seeing whose bladder would fill first. If Shaun would give up and go to the toilet, relinquishing the seat for good, or if Mario would and Shaun could steal it back.

At sometime after one AM, Shaun gave up his discreet potty dance and made for the nearest toilet. No sooner had he darted out of sight than Mario ran for the back door, relieving himself off the porch.

Everyone but Maria and Giovanni laughed.

Mario made it back just fast enough to plop down on the stool and catch the little bottle of hand sanitizer Maria threw at him before Shaun stumbled back into the room, drying his still soapy hands on his slacks, scowling severely.

It was obvious, to Giovanni at least, that the multitude of empty wine bottles on the counter was more than enough shared amongst the eight of them, and he toed the sliding cabinet door closed over the cooler. Then shrill cries heard over the phone stole everyone's attention and there was a crowd around the counter, cooing and pinching imaginary cheeks.

He rubbed his face, feeling a burning ache in each cheek and around his eyes. He stood silently, watching his family, the smiling faces, laughter and wondered if this would be something he'd look back on in the years to come, telling his grandchildren about the day he realized he hadn't lived his life in vain. That he had helped bring four miraculous, beautiful people into the world.

Federico was proud, hard working and so openly loving and loyal. Ezio was so brave, facing each day knowing what fear it would hold, but pushing on with such confidence, such stubbornness and tenacity. Claudia was protective, wickedly smart and beautiful, just like her mother, willing to fight with everything she possessed for what she knew was right. Petruccio was wise beyond his years, kind, gentle and so strong.

Giovanni swirled the last bit of wine in his glass, watching the color grow darker and lighter depending on its depth. There was so much possibility in this kitchen. His children had changed. Sometime between sleep and waking they had grown up. They had minds, thoughts and opinions of their own. They had learned to make decisions for themselves. So much strength. Looking at their faces, he tried to picture where they would all be in ten years. Where he himself would be in ten years. Hell, one day, hopefully not so very soon, he may be congratulating Petruccio and Eli on their marriage, or the birth of a child.

Maria caught his eye, she seemed to be glowing, brightly, so proud and fulfilled. At peace.

Love swelled in his chest. Looking upon this woman, this goddess who had given him everything he'd ever wanted and more.

Giovanni didn't know what would happen ten years from now, ten months or even what tomorrow was going to bring his way. But he was ready for it. Happy or sad, he was ready for it.

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	29. Chapter 29

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_(**NOTE**; Did I mention last chapter how much I love Giovanni and Maria? They are so much fun to write. For some reason I imagine their relationship the kind of mindless all consuming love like Morticia and Gomez Addams… Cara Mia… Mon cher… Yeah, I'm a dork. XD)_

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**Chapter 29; Deflection**

Saturday was not a good day for Altair. It must have been something he'd eaten the day before while he Desmond and Shaun were out on the streets for the third day in a row. Maybe it was the greasy hotdogs Desmond had insisted they have for lunch when Shaun popped into a coffee shop and came out with a giant muffin dotted with big fat blueberries. Or maybe it had been the Breakfast-for-Dinner at a diner near the docks… The pancake syrup had looked a little milky— But whatever it was, the hotdogs, the pancakes, the cheap gas station coffee, Altair was sick.

He'd woken with a headache, even worse than the one he'd had after waking up at Thorpe's. In less than an hour the headache had gotten so bad he'd thrown up, and it just seemed to have compounded by tens every hour since then to a fever, violent chills, cramping in his stomach and joints, and he couldn't seem to stop sweating.

It was very rare that he got sick. And if he did happen to, it was a doozie of a virus that wiped him out for days.

This time, seemed to be the mother of all cases of food poisoning. And when he finally was able to pull his face out of the garbage can it was only long enough to tell Malik, who had appeared wearing a paper hospital mask and carrying a can of spray disinfectant, that food poisoning wasn't contagious and the older man could stop staring at him like he wanted to dip him in bleach.

Altair hated bleach.

Malik obviously didn't believe him and gave him a wide berth as he shuffled back to bed, hiding in a shivering miserable heap under the blankets.

The entirety of Saturday was spent either in bed or in the bathroom.

It was amazing, Malik decided, how something so small, so microscopic could cause so much misery. Altair was usually quiet and kept to himself most of the time. But illness made a mockery of one's masculinity…

For most of Sunday as well, when Altair wasn't asking no one in particular, in a whining, clogged voice how the human body could hold so goddamned much when it's coming out both ends, or sobbing miserably between heaves, he was huddled in his bed amid a tangled mass of blankets.

That evening when Malik ventured back down stairs to make sure he hadn't died, he found that Altair had decided traveling to and from the bathroom wasn't worth the effort and dragged his pillow with him, so he could lean his head against the sink.

Malik scratched at the elastic strap of his mask where it bit into the back of his ear and leaned his left shoulder against the bathroom door; "Where's your phone, I'll call Desmond and tell him not to bother coming in tomorrow."

Altair mumbled something, a barely coherent slur of a noise, but didn't even try to open his eyes.

Malik didn't bother attempting to decipher it, just grunted in agreement; "Where is your phone?"

The taller man's brows scrunched and he sighed in a put upon way; "In my office… Now go away before I throw up on you."

When he opened his eyes again later, Malik was gone.

He took a shower and leaned against the wall letting hot water roll over him for a long while. He felt a little better, chilled, but no longer uncontrollably nauseous and sick. In fact, he felt more tired than anything, so he pulled on a pair of underwear and a loose white t-shirt, then rolled himself into bed and stayed there.

Sleep, he supposed, cured everything.

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"Where are you now?" Mama was on her lunch break. He could hear the crunch of some potato chips and the rustle of the Subway bag.

"Almost there, I'm starting to think I should have taken the train again." Ezio sighed, glancing around the interior of the bus, tapping his foot in tune with the music spilling from the headphones he had dangling around his neck. "This traffic is hellish."

"Mmm—Federico sent me a photo of the baby. They've decided to name him Giovanni Kristofer Letroy. He has the biggest blue eyes I've ever seen!" She cooed, obviously looking at the photo as she spoke. "Did you know he already has nurses fawning over him by the dozen?"

Ezio chuckled; "He's not even three days old yet and he's already an infant Casanova! Petruccio and I were counting all the baskets of clothes and toys in the kitchen this morning. I think there was a bicycle in there somewhere with a gift tag from Uncle Mario on it! I've never seen so much stuff."

Maria laughed. "He has three sets of grandparents, of course he will be spoiled! OH! Petruccio and Eli are going to Federico's to help him clean after their date so I've got time to think. I want to do something special for him since the baby is getting so much attention, any suggestions?"

Ezio glanced up when the bus began to slow and climbed to his feet. He could see the green and tan front of Malik's print shop. "Maybe we should just ask him?"

Maria hummed; "Maybe. I was thinking perhaps a party. Mario already offered use of his boat, and I told Claudia to pick up hamburger, hotdogs and some steak… do you want turkey burgers or chicken?"

The bus slowed; "Chicken… This is my stop—I have to go now, I'll see you later, yes?"

"Of course."

It was windy outside the bus, the air carrying a certain chill. Ezio pulled the hood of his jacket up and walked the half a block to the print shop. He stepped inside and called out; "Hello?"

He could hear machines running in the back.

"Hello?"

He didn't get a reply, but a few seconds later he saw Malik shuffling past hefting a large carton of paper by a plastic handle. He swung it up onto a worktable and seemed to catch Ezio from the corner of his eye because he flinched visibly and brandished a box-cutter in his fist. He cursed under his breath and dropped the knife onto the table, rubbing his hand on his sweater front as he came out into the main room.

"Are Desmond and Shaun here yet?"

And Malik paled. "What?"

"I was supposed to work with them today, are they here yet, or should I just go on up myself."

"Y-you mean he didn't call you? Desmond didn't call you?" He sighed and his shoulders sagged. "Why am I not surprised…" He propped his hand on his hip; "No work today. Altair has been sick as a dog all weekend."

Ezio felt a shard of worry pricking his stomach; "He's sick?"

"He ate something that didn't agree with him… I'm sorry you came all this way for nothing, but while you're here I should probably tell you that he'll likely be completely useless until Wednesday. He heals quickly but if he happens to catch something he's down for about a week." He scoffed quietly and muttered; _"He's a delicate little Princess,"_ in Arabic.

Ezio felt himself grinning.

And Malik got a peculiar look in his eye, brows scrunched downward, dimples on his cheeks as he grinned; _"You understood me didn't you…"_

_"I spent the last nine years of my life in __Morocco__, almost half the people there speak Arabic, the remaining half speak either Spanish or French… if you want to survive in a situation like that you learn quickly."_

Malik nodded solemnly then leaned his elbow on the counter and dropped onto a stool, propping his chin on his fist;_ "There is such history there… I'm supposed to have a cousin in that area. she married an exporter about four years ago. Which region were you in?"_

_"I was mainly in __Fez__ and __Rabat__—Your family is from __Morocco__?"_

_"No, __Syria__."_ Malik folded his arm across the counter and rested his chin on it, smiling inwardly. _"I think maybe when there is less chaos in the area, I'd like to take my father back to see his family. My grandmother is nearing ninety now. It would be nice if she could meet her great-grandchildren."_

Ezio was a little surprised the older man would share such a thing with him. Malik didn't seem like the kind of person who would disclose such intimate details about himself with just anybody.

Malik shook his head and stood with a deep breath, briefly gripping his empty sleeve; "Well, I'm sorry you came all this way for nothing… Would you like me to call a cab or something?"

Ezio scratched at his neck nervously. It was strange, but the worry in his chest wasn't abating. If anything it seemed to be growing more severe. "You wouldn't mind if I looked in on him first, would you?"

Malik shrugged, "I don't care… I just apologize in advance for the mess, I can't get in there and give the place a proper cleaning with him asleep." He looked like he wanted to shove Altair out and scour the place. "He won't be very talkative he sleeps like the dead when he's sick."

Ezio nodded; "Thank you." He waved as he left the shop, and spent almost a full three minutes wrenching the doorknob to the stairs trying to get it open; _"Aperto! Pezzo di merda! Perché non—"_ He yanked, putting his weight into it, and finally it unlatched and he stumbled and fell onto his behind with a startled grunt.

He tried to ignore the sound of Malik laughing hysterically from inside the shop, and instead stomped up the stairs. The hallway was empty, and everything seemed quiet. Too quiet.

There were only two doors besides the one leading to Altair's office, the first closest to the exit opened upon a room overlooking the alleyway there wasn't much in there, a few boxes that looked like they'd been there a while, and a display case on one wall holding some interesting looking knives. The floor was all wood save some bamboo mats, and a series of sturdy looking metal pipes hanging from the ceiling by red and white braided rope. They reminded Ezio of bird swings. He shut the door and walked softly to the second, what he was sure now was Altair's bedroom.

He could see vague dark shapes of furniture through the thick frosted glass in the door, and he carefully cracked it open.

There were clothes scattered on the floor, and the room smelled vaguely sour. It was also a good ten degrees warmer in there than in the hall.

He could see a hand protruding from under a twisted mass of blankets, and hanging over the end of the bed was a bare foot.

Ezio stood there staring in through the three inch gap for a long while.

He didn't know how to explain what he was feeling. Worried, scared maybe? But not for himself. He was worried because Altair was sick, and he was having a hard time coming to terms with it.

Altair couldn't be sick. He was too strong for that. He'd swooped in like a bird of prey or something and saved Ezio from the Collector, saved him from every person who'd ever harmed him, and reunited him with his family. He was a hero. Just the thought of him fascinated Ezio lately.

Altair couldn't be sick…

But he was.

Altair was _human_, just like Ezio.

He pushed the door open slowly, tiptoeing into the room, eyes flicking left and right, taking in and memorizing everything he saw.

Altair had a basketball half hidden under a pair of jeans that looked rumpled and worn. There was also an antique looking sword in a smooth, dark leather sheathe leaned into the corner beside his closet. There were four movie posters on the walls, _The Shining**,**_ Jack Nicholson was peeking through a splintered door. _The Wizard of Oz_. _The Omen._ And one that made a grin appear on Ezio's face; _The Blues Brothers. _There was a modest sized flat screen TV hung between the closet and the bathroom door, a low entertainment center of black and glass, filled with CDs, so many Ezio thought maybe the older man had raided a record store. And there vinyls too, as well as a record player, one was sitting on the spindle ready for play, the jacket laid carefully aside, colorful and cartoonish.

The CD player was whispering softly, saxophone, old town blues.

It was a nice room. Spacious and cluttered just enough to seem lived in.

He approached the bed slowly, noting the shelves placed on either side of it, filled with books on history and mythology, interspersed with a few fiction novels. On the shelf closest the window there was a clock radio, a watch, a wallet and a black switchblade. On the other there was a single photo in a plain black frame, and two more protruding from the pages of a Stephen King novel, _Hearts in Atlantis_. The pictures looked tattered at the edges, as if they had been hidden away in that book and not pulled out often.

The photo in the frame was of a serious looking little boy, about four years old in a white shirt standing beside a young tired, maybe even sick woman in a hijab. Ezio wondered who they were as he carefully, feeling like a snoop, picked up the two other pictures and held one in each hand, looking at them. The first was of three boys, about eleven years old, muddy and wielding toy swords kneeling in what Ezio recognizes as Chief Hayes' back yard. He blinked in surprise when he recognized a few features of the boys. The dark eyes, dimpled cheeks and rounded face had to be young Malik. The smaller boy beside him was similar enough that the two could only be brothers. And the third boy had to be Altair, scrappy looking with a cut on his chin and those unusual honey gold eyes flashing.

The second picture was of a similar composition, only the three of them were older, in their late teens, wearing desert fatigues, standing in a line in front of a plywood little building on a sandy, dusty lot.

Ezio wondered why these two pictures looked to have been hidden away instead of displayed in frames like the other one. He placed them carefully back where he'd found them and turned his eyes to the bed.

Altair was under that lump of blankets. Sleeping, maybe even dreaming.

He cocked his head to the side and bent, one hand on his knee, the other going out slowly and delicately peeling back the quilts like the layers of an onion.

Altair had his left hand under his chin, clutching at a fuzzy gray blanket as if his life depended on it. He flinched a little when the air hit him and a crease formed on his brow, but he didn't open his eyes, or seem to wake up at all.

His hair was wet, sticking to his forehead and around his ears, looking more black than brown, and there were dark waxy circles under his eyes, and a flush to his cheeks. He seemed to pout in his sleep, and he curled tighter in on himself with a shiver, his foot disappearing under the covers again.

He looked very human. Not so invincible now that he was asleep and bundled up like a squirrel.

Ezio felt his hand moving before he even knew he was reaching out, brushing his knuckles against the older man's brow. He glanced up, searching the immediate vicinity for jars, or bottles of pills, or something that would indicate Altair was taking medicine.

He saw nothing but a half empty glass of water in the floor, just under the edge of the bed. And when his eyes landed back on Altair's face there was something different…

One eye was cracked open, peering out at him miserably.

Ezio opened his mouth to apologize, feeling somehow humiliated and flustered that he'd been caught watching the older man sleep.

Altair's voice was rough, a dry sore hiss; "Nobody called you, did they."

After a moment's thought Ezio shook his head.

Altair sighed and his eye fell closed again, amazingly he didn't pull away from the younger man's hand, but leaned his head into it, sighing in something akin to relief; "'feels good."

There was something extraordinarily satisfying about that. Knowing that the touch of his hand felt good. A touch that wasn't sexual, wasn't forced, but was given innocently, freely.

"You're too hot, Altair…" He pulled gently at the blankets and rolled the majority of them down past the PI's knees. "Have you taken anything for the fever?"

He hummed in the negative. "'nothin' stays down."

Ezio ran his hand over the older man's temple and brushed his fingertips against the stubble prickling his jaw, stomach fluttering; "I'm sorry you're sick."

He twitched his brows as if saying his awkward thanks for sympathy, and didn't move for a few minutes. And then it was only to pull the blanket he was gripping higher on his shoulder and give a hard shudder. "Can I have those back, please?"

Ezio shook his head; "You're too hot as it is… Would you try again to take something before I leave?" he swallowed down a tense lump in his throat. He didn't like seeing anybody sick. Illness was a much bigger deal to him than anybody else it seemed, he'd seen people get very very sick from things he'd have shrugged off before he was kidnapped. Leo had almost died from something as simple as an inflamed appendix. Health was a gift, and Ezio wanted to make absolutely sure everything possible was being done to insure Altair's returned as quickly as possible. "Please? For me?"

Altair's eyes cracked open again, blinking dazedly, a strange maybe even admirably confused expression on his face.

Ezio sighed and eased himself to his knees beside the bed, shrugging out of his jacket and backpack. He gnawed his lip a minute, flattening his palm across Altair's jaw. "I just want to help."

They stared at one another, neither blinking, and then, with a weary sigh, Altair nodded.

Ezio felt as if he'd won a war or something and he climbed to his feet, fishing the water glass from under the edge of the bed and disappearing into the bathroom, he filled it at the sink, rinsing it twice, and carried it back.

The older man had forced himself into a sitting position and was hunched over his knees, layering blankets over his shoulders like a thick cape. He took the water but refused the pills, saying he had to just deal with it, that whatever was making him sick had to be flushed out and he'd rather be fevered so the heat killed the germs… but he gave permission for Ezio to dump his ass in a cold shower and yell for Malik if he started talking out of his head.

Ezio sat on the foot of the bed and watched him intently, like a cat or something, while he slowly sipped at the water, pausing after every swallow to make sure it was going to stay down for a few minutes.

He was actually surprised when he realized he might be able to ignore the nausea and sat there staring at the remaining water in the cup. He glanced up twice at Ezio, feeling a strange pressure growing in his chest. It wasn't necessarily an unpleasant feeling, just strange.

The younger man's face pinked and he glanced to the side, picking at a decorative fray on his jeans. "You… You've got a nice place." Ezio motioned to the room in general. "I didn't know you had so many CD's."

Altair hummed; "I've got six more bins of records in the other room. Those are just my favorites this month. I'm kind of a music junkie." He lifted the glass to his lips again and took a larger drink to test the strength of his stomach.

Ezio nodded and smiled; "I'm starting to become one I think… I borrowed a CD from Petruccio this morning." He pulled his bag toward himself and took out the player, popping it open and holding out the disk.

Altair handled it gingerly at the edges and the hole in the middle. A tiny grin that had sprouted on his face suddenly widened; "Your brother likes Pink Floyd?"

"He likes loud screaming stuff better… That's why he let me take this one."

Altair rolled his head on his shoulders and gripped his chest through the blankets; "You're killing me… Tell him he's killing me."

"Why?" Ezio pulled his bag onto the bed with him.

"He and I just have different ideas of what's good I suppose." He handed the CD back carefully and yawned pulling at the pillows until he could flop over tiredly onto them.

Ezio watched him thoughtfully, tilting his head to the side. Altair hadn't changed much since that night years ago when he'd been drugged and tied to a chair. His hair was a little longer, shaggier. And he had scars Ezio remembered being dealt. He found himself staring at the line on Altair's mouth and the gap of a missing finger.

"You OK, Ezio?" Altair's eyes were heavily lidded, sleepy. And his left hand was curled at his cheek.

He nodded shyly and glanced at his hands where they rested on his knees. Here he was sitting on Altair's bed and they weren't doing anything. He hadn't been in a bed with another man besides Leo and his father without having sex in more than nine years. He looked up at Altair again, his heart beginning to race, his mouth going dry.

This man had saved his life.

Altair shifted his head against the pillow and let out a deep breath. "'m fallin' asleep."

"I… I never thanked you."

His eyebrows curled curiously.

"You tried to save us from Borgia… You could have died—I thought you _were_ dead, Desmond as well until I saw you at Teodora's." He leaned forward, crossing his arms around his knees. "I never thanked you for finding me. For bringing me home."

Altair inhaled deeply and let it roll out again; "I was… just doing my job." He seemed to be struggling to keep his eyes open.

"Not every PI would have done what you did. You crossed the world just to find me… If you hadn't caught up to me when you did—" He shuddered and had to grind his teeth for a minute before he could continue; "I want to thank you…"

Altair was quiet and when Ezio looked at him again he noticed the older man's eyes were closed, his face relaxed, breathing deep and even.

Silence.

He sat still for a while, just watching, waiting.

He wasn't sure what to do, or exactly what he was feeling. But sitting there looking at the older man made his chest feel tight in an unfamiliar way, made his throat dry and his heart flutter. The rational part of his mind he'd been trying to listen to more of late kept saying that he should probably leave and let Altair rest. The unsure, jaded part of his mind that still sought out the malice in men's faces and the intent of their gazes told him he should leave quickly that Altair had done something for him and would soon require payment… But something else, a tiny tickling thought at the back of his mind that had begun to grow steadily louder since he'd confronted himself in the mirror, the voice of his rage and hurt, was oddly calm, curious of this man who defied everything he thought he'd known.

Ezio found himself ruled by this new facet of his personality.

He leaned close over Altair's sleeping form and studied his face, the tiny lines at the edges of his eyes, the length of his lashes, the dark hair in his brows and the faint scarring across the bridge of his nose.

He felt like that mirror in the bathroom at home, revealing every secret and flaw under bright lighted scrutiny. But instead of making him insecure like the mirror had, highlighting the little blemishes, the stray acne scars on Altair's cheek and forehead— it all left him feeling intent, awed. It made Altair more real with every breath and gentle chilled tremor.

His fingers seemed to move of their own accord, tracing the lines of the older man's face and jaw, ignoring how clammy he was, and focusing more on his presence.

Altair murmured and shifted his head against the pillow, leaning into the younger man's touch.

Ezio felt himself smile and he gently brushed the hair off Altair's forehead. He shook his head, suddenly self conscious and feeling warmth in his middle. He stood and rubbed the back of his neck while he looked around again. He didn't really know what he was doing until he'd started picking up the clothing scattered on the floor, dropping them into a hamper beside the PI's dresser, pushed crumpled tissues into the waste basket and tugged the fitted sheet back into place where it had come off the mattress.

A soft sound at the door behind him stole his attention and he looked quickly toward it surprised.

Malik was peering in at him with his eyebrows up. He didn't speak, just looked at him inquisitively.

Ezio glanced toward Altair and noticed the older man's alarm clock now read half past five. How had almost three hours passed?

"You didn't come back down." Malik didn't sound surprised, but Ezio guessed very little surprised him, he just had that kind of personality.

"I'm not intruding, am I?"

Malik's mouth curved downward but he shook his head, "No, I just didn't expect you to stay since there was no work to be done." He stepped into the room and looked around with a somehow unexpectedly pleased expression on his face. "Desmond only stays if there's food."

"W-well, he woke up. We talked a little bit and he went back to sleep… I—" He didn't really know why he'd decided to pick up the place. It had just seemed like a good idea at the time.

Malik nodded, as if he understood and jerked his chin toward the hallway. "Come on, I can finish in here when he wakes up."

Ezio gathered his things and pulled his jacket back on, following Malik down stairs.

The print shop had effectively closed though a few machines were running out the last in an order of tri-fold pamphlets for the clinic where Hadiya was receptionist. He offered Ezio a stool to sit on and disappeared into the back, returning with a mug of coffee.

Ezio sipped at it, watching Malik where he sat on another stool and bent over a sketchbook, making light but deliberate little lines in a curving pattern alternately popping M&M's in his mouth from a pile on the counter.

"What are you doing?"

Malik glanced up then back down again; "The school my children go to is having a carnival on the last day for the kindergarten through third grades. A few businesses and parents are planning educational activities. I volunteered to do a scavenger hunt with the history department."

Ezio leaned over and watched him for a few minutes; "You're very good."

He grunted, sketching the curve of a jungle gym. "I've drawn maps for other things, yard sales, luncheons, parties." He scrubbed one line away with an eraser.

"What are the children going to be hunting?"

Malik shrugged; "They'll answer questions about what they've learned this year and earn raffle tickets or something, I don't know… I'm making a map of the gymnasium and playground where all the activities are taking place right now. The carnival isn't until Friday anyway so I have time to think."

Ezio hummed in acknowledgement and fished his phone out of his bag, scanning through text messages; "My brother's girlfriend had her baby Saturday." He held up the phone and let Malik see the images.

Malik quirked his mouth to the side, then gave a little nod; "I don't know your brother well, but he seems like he'll be a good father… Boy or girl?"

"Boy… Eight pounds two ounces almost twenty-four inches."

"That's a big baby."

Ezio cackled; "He's a little angel. And I'm going to spoil him ROTTEN!"

Malik chuckled and glanced up when a car stopped in front of the shop. He'd met Giovanni three times before, brief hellos and goodbyes. He lifted his hand in greeting when the older man peered in through the shop front windows.

Ezio started gathering his things.

Giovanni stepped inside with a rather awkward smile; "Did everything go well?"

Ezio's eyebrows raised and he hissed uncomfortably through his teeth; "Altair's sick. Desmond didn't call to tell me."

"You could have called, I would have come to get you. Are you alright?"

"I'm OK." He held up his hands earnestly.

Giovanni nodded and lowered his voice; _"I'm just worried you might be—Might be pushing yourself."_

Ezio paused, his backpack half way to his shoulder and looked at his father with wide, shocked eyes. He understood his concern… just felt embarrassed that he would bring it up in such a place. And strangely, that was the first time since his return that Ezio had felt embarrassed by one of his parents. It was an oddly good feeling. A normal feeling. He sighed, "I'm OK, Papa." He looped an arm around his father's neck as he passed. "Thank you." He waved over his shoulder to Malik. "Good luck with the carnival."

Malik called out a quick goodbye and didn't look up from his work.

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	30. Chapter 30

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**Chapter 30; Prejudice**

Marjory was wearing green when Ezio showed up on Tuesday morning. It was a lively color that reminded him of a shirt Leo owned and wore around Rosa's with very little else.

It took him a few minutes of fighting back giggles to be able to look the woman in the face and seriously focus on their session.

"So, how was your weekend?" She was grinning as if she already knew.

"It was exciting, my brother's girlfriend went into labor at Petruccio's graduation. My mother and sister finally accepted that it's going to be a while before she and Federico get married… Petruccio now has his first girlfriend and I keep wanting to hug them both and make high pitched noises at how cute they are."

Marjory chuckled.

He smiled and grew quiet, his expression slowly becoming troubled. "Also… I went to Altair's. To look at the photographs like I mentioned before."

"How did that go?"

Ezio shifted in his seat and scrubbed his mouth with his fingertips before he found the strength to speak; "He was sick. Food poisoning I believe, Desmond had forgotten to call me and say not to bother going in—I went up to check on him…" His voice trailed off and he stared into space for a few seconds in silence.

"What motivated you to go check on him?"

He shrugged; "I just felt I needed to… But while I was there I—I started feeling strange, not in a bad way, just strange. It puzzled me until last night. Mama threw a party for Petruccio for his graduation and he and I were talking about his girlfriend. I asked him when he knew she'd become more than just a friend and he basically described everything I'd felt while I was there with Altair…"

Marjory nodded and steepled her fingers at her chin.

"I feel weird saying this, even more so for realizing I'm feeling it, considering everything… But I think I have a crush on him." He looked a little humiliated leaning back in his seat and glancing toward the ceiling so he didn't have to meet Marjory's eyes. "I mean, is there something wrong with me? After all I've gone through I still feel physical desire toward someone? Is that wrong?" he looked back at her with his brows scrunched and his eyes pleading. "Why am I feeling like this?"

Marjory lowered her hands and took notes while she spoke; "It's not uncommon to become attached to a person when they've saved you from something like that, Ezio. It's also not uncommon for someone to become attached to a kidnapper. It's normal, but I do suggest we explore this further to find the root of it, yes?"

He nodded. "I keep telling myself that it's wrong, that it's disgusting to feel that way, but—"

"Ezio, feeling that way is not disgusting. It is emotion, emotions are sometimes unpredictable. Learning how to tell whether you're feeling a certain way because of your trauma or because it is natural for you as a person is part of the healing process. I'm here to offer my knowledge and experience in order to help you do this… I know it's confusing, so my advice is to take some time and just think about it. Write your feelings down, or if it's difficult to write down, draw a picture. Try your best to explain what you're feeling."

He nodded. "I have to be objective about this, right?"

"You're learning about yourself, what makes you feel angry, happy, sad, frightened and excited. You've progressed very quickly in the past month, I'm very proud of you. But you don't want to push yourself. You've worked hard, take a break, enjoy spending some time with your family. Don't worry about the why of your emotions for right now, just focus on feeling them."

He nodded. "What do I do about Altair?"

"You have to trust yourself, just like you're learning to trust others again. It's a slow process."

"So I should just wait? Enjoy it for what it is but don't put myself in a position that I could compromise my health."

"If that's what you feel is best it sounds like a good plan."

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Wednesday morning Altair emerged from his bedroom a pale ghost like figure in jeans, socks and a loose gray t-shirt. His hair was wet and to Malik it looked like he hadn't bothered to even rub a towel over his head after showering. He rode the elevator down to the print shop and helped Malik fold pamphlets since the folding machine had broken… again.

Malik was grumbling and kicking it, threatening to drop it off the roof.

Altair yawned and most of that morning was spent in relative silence.

A few men and women came in wanting copies, or wanting Malik to notarize a few documents for them.

Hadiya came down at about noon with Zafir on her hip, pressing a quick kiss to Malik's lips saying she was going grocery shopping and would be back later.

While Malik was fighting with the folding machine Altair watched the front, sitting on one of those high stools paging through a catalogue of knives, swords and other replica weaponry Malik kept under the counter to amuse himself with when business was slow.

And then the phone rang.

Malik was cursing and pounding the equipment with his fist so after the third ring Altair shuffled to the office and pulled it to his ear; "Al-Sayf printing, how may I help you." A little Gadil in his head scolded him and said he should be more enthusiastic.

"Yes, this is Principal Newman, I'm looking for Mr. Al-Sayf… It's about his son Gadil."

Altair felt a chill run up the length of his spine and his tongue felt numb; "Yes… I—Will go get him." He sat the phone down and darted into the work room, pulling at Malik's shoulder and dodging the aggravated punch the older man threw at his head for being disturbed. "The phone, It's the principal!"

Malik scowled and stomped into the office. His voice though was calmly professional. "Hello? Yes, this is he, how may I help you Principal Newman?" Malik was quiet for a five count, and then he spoke, in a deep, flat monotone; "What."

Altair's ears perked up and he leaned toward the door of the office, he could only make out a murmur on the other end of the phone, but he could feel a cold pressure oozing out of the room, invading his chest.

"Gadil got in a fight… He left school property and got into a fight with another boy on the sidewalk…"

Altair ground his teeth and slowly started to tiptoe from the room. He hadn't really expected Gadil to do it. The kid was protective, yes, but he'd never done anything against the rules before, hell, he didn't even cheat at checkers.

"Is my son alright? Is the other boy—A bloody nose? Yes, yes, I understand, I'll be right there, thank you for calling, Mr. Newman."

The phone clicked down into its cradle, and Altair reached for the storage room door, teeth bared, breath held. Maybe he was still sick… yes, he'd hide in bed for a little while and pretend to still be sick.

"Altair."

That tone was dark, deep, and bone chilling.

_Maybe if I don't move, he won't be able to see me… Like the T-Rex from __Jurassic__Park__._

A hand fell heavily onto his shoulder, and turned him around, pressing him back against the door.

He instinctually bowed in on himself, muscles tense, ready for whatever Malik threw at him.

Malik's face was a mottled color and his knuckles cracked; "Did you teach Gadil to fight?"

There was really no use denying it, Malik knew when you were lying. It was like he could smell it… The bastard. The best, and only thing he could do would be to explain himself in as few words as possible.

"He asked me to."

"Why didn't you send him to me? He is my son."

"I told him to ask you… but he—he rolled his eyes."

Malik looked visibly hurt, his jaw tightening, fist shaking.

"That boy wouldn't leave him alone, Malik. I only showed him how to bloody the kid's nose. A bully like that usually backs off if you make them bleed."

And the tenseness seemed to lessen in the shorter man's shoulders. Malik knew first hand what it was like to be bullied by people like that. He wasn't a short man, average build in truth, but it was all the Chipmunk Face. Nobody took him seriously in basic training, and he'd had to be twice as tough just to get half the respect… It had only become worse for him since losing his arm.

"Look," Altair pushed his hair off his brow; "if it'll make you feel better you can punch me in front of him."

Malik rolled his eyes; "I'm not going to punch you."

Well, that was a relief.

"But thank you for offering…" he sighed in a put upon way. "I have to go to the school and sort this mess out." He disappeared into the office for a minute and came back out tucking his cell phone into his pants pocket. "I'm assuming since he's in trouble for leaving campus while school was still in session that you told him not to punch the other boy on the grounds?"

"I didn't want him getting expelled."

"There's that at least… Come on, you're part of this now too." He started toward the front door.

"I'm not wearing shoes…"

Malik let out a shrill little roar and tangled fingers in his hair; "Why are you not wearing shoes! What is WITH you and running around in your socks!"

"I don't like shoes."

Malik snatched up a bundle of folded pamphlets and threw them at Altair's head.

The PI ducked into the storage room and barely missed being hit in the face with them. He returned a few minutes later wearing shoes and his jacket, yawning tiredly.

Malik had his hand propped on his hip and was tapping his foot impatiently. "I could have been there and back by now!" he gave the folding machine another savage kick and stomped to the door, locking it behind Altair and off they went down the street.

A few people gave them strange looks as they passed, mostly because Malik looked like a tea kettle ready to steam and had shoved his fist deeply into the pocket of his jeans.

Altair thought the furious flush to his cheeks clashed with the dark color of his sweater and made him look like he had a sun burn.

The school was only five blocks away, and Malik always did have long strides. The school's dumpy security guard met them at the door and let them in.

The hallways were practically empty, one or two students carrying large brightly colored hall passes going to and from the bathroom.

Gadil was sitting slumped dramatically in a chair outside the principal's office four chairs away from a bulky, brutish blonde boy with swollen teary eyes and a wad of tissue held to his nose. He glared hatefully at Malik as he passed with Altair into the office.

Principal Newman was a very tall, very thin balding man with a bushy mustache. There was already another man there, a taller, bulkier looking version of the boy in the hall. Mr. Newman got right to the point.

"As I was telling Mr. Gates, Malik… Gadil and David have been in my office six times in the past two months. Their teachers have tried multiple times to get them to resolve their differences, to no avail… Now, Gadil told me that David started the fight and David told me Gadil did. The point is though, both boys were fighting, David's nose is bloodied—"

"Didn't he give my son a black eye just last month? What was done about that?"

David's father scoffed derisively and muttered something to himself.

"That is in the past, it was handled. Teachers witnessed that incident and David received detention and a three day expulsion—"

"Was this fight on school grounds?" Malik looked innocent enough, but Altair could tell just by the tone of his voice that his devilish brain was hard at work.

Principal Newman stuttered; "N-no, it wasn't."

"Then you have no cause to punish either of them for fighting. It was out of your jurisdiction."

That bushy mustache twitched; "You're right… But both boys did leave school grounds while school was still in progress. That is against the rules and the student code of conduct."

"I agree." Malik chose that moment to sit down in the chair beside David's father. "So, what is their punishment?"

Altair leaned his shoulder against the doorframe and yawned.

Mr. Newman glanced at him warily and his brow wrinkled; "I'm sorry, but, who are you?"

Malik flipped a hand before Altair could speak; "He's a friend of the family. It's fine."

The balding man blinked a few times and turned back to the two fathers before him; "Since the fight wasn't on school property, as you said, it's out of my jurisdiction… But they did leave without permission. Gadil will have a demerit on his permanent record and isn't allowed to take part in the carnival on Friday."

Malik nodded; "He's also going to be grounded for a week."

Altair winced.

"As for David, this is his tenth offence. Demerits, detention, loss of privileges and expulsion haven't seemed to work. I'm sorry to say, Mr. Gates, but I'm recommending David to the school board and asking he be transferred to another district. I've warned him, and you, that if his violent behavior didn't correct itself he would not be welcome here."

David's father turned very red and glared at Malik from the corner of his eye. "It wasn't my son's fault. If he said that boy started it, he damned well started it! David may not be a perfect student, but he isn't a liar!"

"Be that as it may, Mr. Gates, the fight occurred off school property, this is not about the fight. It is about the fact both boys left campus without permission."

Altair was grinning inside. If Gadil hadn't gotten himself and the other boy off campus they both would be in bigger trouble. First time offense for fighting was three days expulsion, the second a full three-sixty-five expulsion, Zero Tolerance, which considering the date, would have meant both boys would have been held back.

The bell rang and out in the hallway children cheered and screamed happily that the day was over, running toward the buses and waiting parents, filing out through the metal detectors and past the security guard who waved and smiled at little happy faces.

Mr. Gates grumbled and stood up, shoving his chair back; "I don't have time for this. Don't bother sending any request forms anywhere. I'll move my son to a district that'll actually do some good for him instead of laying blame on him just because of his ADD!"

Altair watched disinterestedly as David's father stomped out and stood in front of his son. Gadil came into the room quickly, eyes wide and scared and latched onto his father's empty sleeve. He whispered apologies for fighting and Malik gave him a meaningful look.

They left the principal's office together, Mr. Newman following the tide of bodies toward the door.

"I guess you must have been a misfire, huh?"

Malik's teeth popped, but he said nothing, just kept walking, his hand light, but firm on his son's shoulder.

Altair felt his insides ball up like a handful of lead grapeshot, and saw the big man sneer hatefully at Malik's back while they moved slowly toward the exits.

"Some example for that little bastard you are—" He raised his voice and called out to the security guard; "Hey forget about my boy, you should be checking _his_ backpack—" He pointed down at Gadil; "Make sure he's not trying to smuggle in a bomb or some shit! Trying to finish what his old man couldn't manage!" He spoke loudly enough that it was obvious he wanted to be heard by everybody in the vicinity. Obvious he thought his comment would make him look powerful insulting a six-year-old and he gave Malik an emphatic shove with his elbow as he passed.

The children around him had all gone quiet, and over the crowd Altair could see Saree and Kalila waiting patiently by the door for their father looking worried.

David's father then turned back to the principal, his lips rolled back in a sneer. "If David's done anything against your precious rules it was only to defend himself and his classmates against that godless little—"

Altair had heard and been victim to just about every single derogatory name or mean hearted comment and threat against Muslims and people of Arabic decent from the time he started school at four, until recently on the train, and every time he heard one he wanted to ball up his fist and let 'em have it. But he never had, simply because he didn't think his trained fist would be a fair fight against an untrained civilian's flapping mouth—

Malik though…

Malik moved lightning quick, turning on the balls of his feet, a perfect about-face and his fist came from somewhere around his knees, his whole body behind it, face twisted into a fierce and rather frightening snarl.

The big man's head jerked violently to the side and he went down like a ton of bricks.

Gadil's jaw dropped clear to his chest eyes bugging in shock and perhaps a little astonishment that his father— The gentle kind man who scared monsters out of his closet with a dust buster, and picked up spiders with tissues or a feather duster to put outside so Kalila didn't cry when they were squashed. The playful friend who growled and crawled around on the floor with him and Zafir wrestling or wore ridiculous hats and clip on earrings to have tea parties with his sisters. That man who he'd thought soft, not tough enough or capable of raising a hand to anything— Had just knocked a man out with one solid punch to the face.

"Whoa!"

David's father was struggling back into consciousness, staring up at Malik in shock, and a few of the other parents were chattering and clucking like frightened chickens, pulling their children away quickly. Malik bent and growled at the prone man, leveling a finger in his face; "You can insult me all you want, but don't you DARE call my children that. Don't you DARE! If I thought you had enough functioning brain cells I'd ask just who the hell you thought you were, but then again I heard enough of that uneducated macho 'Good ol' Boy' bullshit from assholes just like you in Basic… I had to make them bleed before they would shut up too! I guess people never really change, do they!"

David's father's lips rolled back from his red teeth, blood rolling from the corner of his mouth; "You think you're tough shit—I'm gonna fuck you up so bad your ancestors'll feel it!"

Gadil's fists popped up defensively and he darted around his father eyes wild; "JUST TRY IT ASSHOLE!"

Malik laid his hand gently on his son's chest and pushed him backward, but David's father was already moving and his hand smacked sharply across Gadil's face—

Altair had once said that Malik was the absolute last person you wanted mad at you.

If David's father hadn't said anything, hadn't done that unforgivable thing and laid a finger on one of his children Malik would have peacefully backed away and left, a single punch was equal to the mass of slander the bigger man had spewed forth, in Malik's eyes. But the moment David's father touched Gadil, the tubby bastard crossed the line.

Children and women screamed and the crowd parted like oil in a bowl of water prodded by a soapy finger. Altair, Gadil and David were moved with the flow, pushed back to the edges of the schoolyard, and Altair knew, if he didn't get his friend off David's father, Malik would kill him.

Not because he was in anyway trying to, it was more a test of scientific theory. What happens when an unstoppable force, Malik, meets an immovable ass, David's father.

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An hour and twenty minutes later Altair was at his father's precinct, standing in front of the 'cage', what the holding cells were commonly called. Staring in at Malik with a grin on his face.

Malik's sweater was torn and there was blood crusted under his nose. His hair a mess, and the knuckles of his hand were split. He was also pacing like a lion, staring with dark bottomless eyes, intent like a hawk's, at the cell across the hall where David's father was sitting against the wall holding an icepack to his face because a second punch had most assuredly broken his jaw. His eyes were defiant… But every time Malik turned, or acted as if he were going to jump at the bars, David's father would flinch and back himself a little farther into his corner.

Sergeant Thorpe and her HEAT packing partner came back about then and ushered Altair out.

He stood with his ear pressed to the door hoping to hear what was being said. He made out the first two sentences of it. Thorpe's formal introduction of the two parties, and that was all he needed to hear.

Frances Eugene Gates, meet Marine Sergeant Malik Al Sayf…

_Oorah._

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Altair walked out of the building with Malik five minutes later, all charges dropped against the shorter man, while Mr. Gates stayed behind one count assaulting a minor, two counts slander.

When Malik was asked if he'd be pressing charges for the punch Mr. Gates had landed on his nose, he'd just scoffed and said; "I've been hit harder by my two-year-old."

So, now Altair was buying Malik lunch. Grinning knowingly the whole time the older man was scarffing down his kosher hotdogs at the diner on the corner, barely half a block from the alleyway Altair had been snatched into almost ten years before by Rodrigo's son.

Malik liked hotdogs… They were greasy and disgusting, and there was just something fundamentally satisfying about chomping into one when you felt so full of piss and vinegar.

Malik glanced up at him and spoke around a mouthful of food; "Where are the kids?"

"Hadiya came and took them home shortly after Thorpe dragged you off foaming at the mouth. I wouldn't have left them there alone, not after _that_ especially."

He grunted and took another bite even before he'd finished swallowing the last one.

Altair kept grinning, slowly drinking his ice water and nibbling a piece of dry toast.

"Wh-thfuck are you starin' at me?" He swiped his chin with a napkin to make sure there wasn't mustard or ketchup on his face.

That scarred grin was all the answer he got for another thirty seconds.

"Felt good didn't it?"

Malik didn't speak at first, just kept chewing, glaring hatefully at Altair… Then slowly a rather evilly satisfied grin split his face, dimples forming on his cheeks. "You have no idea."

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	31. Chapter 31

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_(You guys are so kind in your reviews! *Hugs everyone* So, I've got a question for ya', since you're all being so nice. I've written a side story to this dealing with Shaun and Desmond and something that happens later in the story. Should I post it now and spoil a big event that hasn't happened yet, or should I wait until it's happened here before I post it? *My muse has gone into overdrive this month! I swear it has!* And because the last chapters are so short, you get six this week! I hope you enjoy them!)_

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**Chapter 31; Breathe Deep **

Desmond got a phone call Wednesday evening around six. It was Altair, and it sounded like all four of Malik's children were on the train with him screaming and laughing and being little terrors.

"Hey, Des, meet me at Burger King in fifteen minutes. Emergency baby sitting duty, I'll buy you dinner."

Desmond was never one to turn down the prospect of free burgers, so, after he'd shoved on a new shirt and found his wallet, he locked the apartment door and darted out into the street. Summer, for Desmond was a very boring experience. He rented a tiny apartment over a bar and worked under the table as a bartender five nights a week in exchange for the place. Luckily he had that night off, expecting to go out with Lucy on a date… But she'd called and canceled. Said something had come up.

Altair was already at the Burger King when Desmond had hopped off the bus. There was only one Desmond went to and its manager was a friend of his with long hair named Michael.

Michael was a sullen, almost depressing young man who enjoyed freaking people out and confusing them with riddles. He especially enjoyed doing this to Desmond for some reason, and sometimes slipped him free burgers just to have him around longer to torture.

Desmond tolerated it for one reason and one reason only… He never turned down free food.

Michael was on a smoke break, standing outside by a potted pine tree puffing like a steam engine when Desmond loped up grinning.

"Shit… I can't get rid of you, can I." He exhaled smoke through his nose like a mad bull.

"Sorry, I'm like a bad penny."

"You're like fucking herpes…"

Desmond wrinkled his nose and went inside.

Altair was sitting in a booth with his feet propped up in his seat watching the kids run pell-mell through the indoor play ground. There were four kids' meals on the table, untouched, and Altair was sipping at a bottle of water.

"Wow, why'd you bring them out?" Desmond dropped into another booth at his elbow and jerked his chin toward the kids. "You never volunteer to bring them out unless— _Oooooh!"_ he waggled his eyebrows. "It's not even their anniversary!"

Altair grinned at him; "Malik got into a fight today… It got his adrenaline pumping."

Desmond giggled; "Wow. Go, Malik!"

They watched the kids darting back and forth behind bubble windows set in the tunnels and parapets.

Zafir was in the ball pit with Saree, screeching and throwing the plastic orbs at his sister's head while she made monster faces and growled at him.

"You feelin' any better?"

Altair hummed. "You forgot to call Ezio and tell him I was sick."

Desmond's eyes bugged. "Jesus, I'm sorry. I completely forgot."

"It's alright, no harm done." He flipped his fingers dismissively.

The younger man settled back in his seat for a moment then sprang up holding out his hand; "I wanna WAPPAH!"

Altair rolled his eyes and gave him a five dollar bill, watching him practically skip back inside and to the counter.

He returned a few moments later with a tray and only one burger, looking unhappy. Apparently he hadn't answered Michael's riddles correctly. He ate, then kicked off his shoes and dove into the play area with the kids, sitting in the ball pit and letting Zafir pelt him while Saree climbed up the slide and disappeared.

Altair made the kids come out of the castle and eat, and because Desmond looked like a kicked puppy, bought him another burger, then let them all play for a little while more, bought them milkshakes, and they rode the train until Zafir and Kalila climbed into his lap and fell asleep.

Altair reasoned at half past eleven that Malik had to be done reaffirming his masculinity and they climbed on a bus and went home.

Desmond ended up carrying Gadil who slumped over his shoulder like a corpse, Saree gripping his hand and rubbing her eyes sleepily.

Altair thanked him at the door and Desmond waved as he headed home saying he'd be over early tomorrow to help the older man with work that had piled up while he'd been sick.

Gadil and Saree shuffled to bed with half open eyes and Altair made sure everyone was asleep before he strode quietly down the hall to knock and let Malik and Hadiya know everyone was home safely. The door was open a crack and a dim light was spilling out into the dark hallway. There was a thin discreet shipping box in the floor—

Altair couldn't help but stare at them. The slightly confused crease between Malik's eyebrows, even as they were lifted in surprise, or the way his mouth had fallen open, his whole body seeming to shine with sweat, the muscles of his stomach rolling to a new and uncertain rhythm.

Hadiya was bent close, their noses brushing, seeming to loom over him like some exotic goddess, all long flowing dark hair and tanned shoulders where her robe had slipped, covering everything Altair may have, had she not been Malik's wife and had not Malik been his friend, found interesting. She seemed to mirror his expressions, breath mingling, almost as if she were inhaling each tiny noise he released while her hand worked its magic between his parted thighs.

Altair turned away almost as quickly as he realized what he was seeing, red in the face, feeling that to witness such intimacy would cheapen it. Besides, just seeing the box and knowing was enough. He would never speak of it and neither Malik nor Hadiya would ever know what he'd seen.

He tiptoed silently down the stairs, stopped in the kitchen for a drink to alleviate his dry throat, and went to his room without a word.

The next morning he woke early, pried the kids out of bed, ensured they got dressed and made them breakfast.

He wasn't a fantastic cook, but he could fry eggs and make pancakes vaguely in the shape of cats, and all of Malik's children seemed to love cats.

Hadiya came down stairs grinning brightly wearing a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. She kissed each of her children's heads and wished them good morning. Listened to the stories of their adventures the night before, riding the train, playing in the castle at Burger King. Laughed and wished the older children a good day at school, then turned on _Sesame Street_ for Zafir and seemed to sashay into the kitchen soundlessly.

"Thank you for taking them out last night and getting them ready this morning." She poured herself a cup of coffee, spooned in some sugar and leaned against the counter grinning into it. "I'll take care of the dishes."

"You're welcome, and thank you—" Altair slid the pan and spatula into the sink and went to collect the plates off the kitchen table. "I'm going to be out most of the day, summons and stuff. They really backed up while I was down… Do you guys need anything?"

She hummed and shook her head, eyes far away in what looked like… interesting memories.

Altair grinned to himself and nodded; "Well I'd better get going, have a good day, I'll see you later."

"Hmmm, you too, Altair."

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Malik was a very prideful creature. There were just some things he would not do. And one of those things, was ask Altair for help.

Desmond and Shaun were sitting at their shared desk watching with intent gazes, the fluctuating expressions on Malik's face. It would go from desperation to anger, to panic and back again so quickly, it seemed he had invented an entirely new emotion all together.

Early that morning, Friday to be exact, the only day in the week the print shop was closed, Malik had been watching TV with Zafir, _Sponge Bob Square Pants_, and absently writing in one of his innumerable notebooks, and the phone had started ringing. He'd glanced at the caller ID on the cordless he'd stuck in his pocket and panic had eaten away at any focus and concentration he'd managed to gather throughout the week. It was Principal Newman, and at first he was terrified that Gadil had gotten into another fight, or worse, something had happened because of that fight. But in all actuality, Mr. Newman was timidly asking if Malik would mind doing the scavenger hunt with the history department because otherwise there was no activity for them.

Panic flashed briefly across his face but his voice was steady. "I… I'd like to, yes… What time should I be there?"

And that was how Malik ended up standing in Altair's office, fingers tangled in his hair. Desmond and Shaun staring at him as if he were some strange alien creature;

"You have to!" He was saying, growling in a menacing way. "You OWE ME! After that fight I didn't think I'd be allowed on school property again so I didn't plan anything! I just wrote it off as a royal screw-up!"

Desmond turned to Shaun and explained in a whisper that Malik very rarely asked Altair for help. He thought it made him appear weak. He demanded, threatened and manipulated to get what he wanted from the other man… It was part of his charm, Desmond supposed.

Altair rubbed his face with both hands and nodded; "Okay, fine… What do you need, and when do you need it?"

Malik slumped in relief. "There are two-hundred kids participating, I need something easy enough for kindergarteners to understand, but fun enough that third graders would do it as well… it also has to be ready in an hour and a half."

And Shaun pulled out a notepad; "What is the purpose of it?"

"Each department has a booth set up. The English department is doing something like Hangman with a dunking booth… The Maths department is doing pick-up-ducks with prizes for correct answers. Science has Mentos and Diet Coke… Social Studies is—fuck, I don't know what social studies is doing… And Health and Physical Education are having apple bobs and an obstacle course."

"Right, so it has to be History related?"

"Yes, I had planned on taking Wednesday and yesterday to come up with questions…"

Shaun scoffed; "My second major is History… I'll have your questions in fifteen minutes. How many do you need? You said there were two-hundred kids, does sixty sound good enough? Fifteen for each grade?"

Malik nodded and pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes. "But there's nothing fun about a quiz…"

Shaun looked visibly affronted. Apparently he thought quizzes were a lot of fun.

"W-what if you made it like a game of tag?" Desmond spun lazily in his chair. "Like, have people planted in the crowd, the kids find them, and if they answer the question right they like, get a point or something."

"There's a raffle prize, from each department, then a series of bigger ones for each grade from the whole school. I don't know what the History department has for prizes though."

"Well, what if, for every question they get right, they get another ticket with their name on it?"

Malik pointed at him. "That's what I was thinking before, but I didn't buy a roll of tickets."

"Just use cut pieces of paper." Altair rested his chin on his fists. "And if you give me a list of questions I'll hide in the crowd." He grinned deviously.

Malik narrowed his eyes. "We want the kids to actually be able to _find you_ idiot."

"Having to look for someone makes it more fun!"

"Right… I'll need more than just three people."

Desmond thumped the desk with his fist; "Done!" He pulled out his cell phone.

Thirty minutes later Lucy and Rebecca were standing in Altair's office. Rebecca was scowling and gulping down a MONSTER. And Shaun's sister was there with Petruccio.

Shaun had the questions written down soon after and Malik read over them quickly.

By the time they got to the school there was very little time left to assemble the scavenger hunt. Malik found the head of the history department and disappeared with him, commandeering one of the copy machines in the school library and coming back out again with three more volunteers, a timid looking second grade history teacher with thick glasses and white hair, the school secretary and a Student Teacher from the university.

Malik divided up the questions, giving Altair, Desmond, Shaun, Lucy, Rebecca, Eli and Petruccio each eight questions, two for each grade, and the Student teacher the four special questions that would be the children's final quest. And gave each of them a thick stack of white slips of paper with a feather printed on one side, and a stack of red paper with what looked like a horned helmet on them. He explained that if the children answered the question right they got their names written on one of the slips with a feather on it to put in the raffle, if they got it wrong the red slip stayed with the questioner and returned every so often so the kids wouldn't cheat and throw them away. And one of Malik's assistants would be making a paper chain out of them. The grade with the most participants and the shortest chain won bragging rights.

The question holders dispersed themselves around the carnival grounds, clipping tags Malik had made with their names on them to their shirt collars, so the children would know they weren't just parents milling around.

It wasn't a bad day in Altair's book, aside from children bugging him the whole time. They all seemed to be having a good time, laughing and making big eyes at him, or asking why he was missing a finger. He did as Malik had said they should and tried to make himself hard to find, but at the same time, actually find-able. This made it seem more like an adventure to the kids and less like a history lesson. It was kind of heart breaking though, when he was hiding on the jungle gym and looked toward the school building, spying Gadil peering out the window sadly from his detention room. He crept back around to Malik's booth for a bottle of soda and to hand in his red slips, waving at a few kids who were cashing in their tickets to put into the raffle boxes.

The prizes weren't as lame as Altair had thought they would be, gift certificates to Pizza Hut and huge candy bars that looked to weigh five pounds or more.

"Gadil's up there on the second floor in detention…"

"I know." Malik sighed miserably, trying to appease a very upset Zafir with apple slices and his juice cup; "He shouldn't have left school property during class, but I really don't think he did anything wrong… I'll make it up to him this evening."

Altair grunted and disappeared before more kids could bombard him. He wandered around and met up with each one of his fellow 'targets' throughout the day.

Eli seemed to be hiding around the basketball court and the obstacle course looking innocent and making eyes at Petruccio, who'd perched himself on top the monkey bars and every so often showed off by hanging upside down, his shirt flopping up exposing his thin waist. He seemed pretty good at acrobatics.

Desmond was running around the playground, and if the kids wanted to get his questions he made them run through the large brightly colored equipment, and make faces, or creep around and gather some of the free snacks for him… the kids seemed to love it.

Shaun was slinking around, obviously trying to find a secluded place where he could have a cigarette without anybody noticing him… he didn't look to be having much luck.

The student teacher was just standing where he had been all day in the middle of the path, defeating the whole purpose of the 'hide-and-seek' aspect of the game.

It was kind of fun surprisingly blending in with the crowd and trying to hide from little kids with heavy footfalls and loud giggles. It had been a while since he'd just done something because it was fun.

Second Grade won bragging rights with the History Department, and everyone went home happier and a little wiser. And by the time the last bus pulled away at the end of the day Altair was exhausted. Lucy and Rebecca left early because the blonde had to work but everybody else stayed and helped clean up the playground and gymnasium.

Desmond and Malik were carrying bags of waste paper toward the elevator when Gadil ran down the hall looking miserable, latching onto his father's waist and hiding his face in Malik's shirt. "Can we go home now?"

Desmond took Malik's bag; "You go on, I've got these. Shaun's still looking for Eli's earring down stairs anyway, and he's my ride."

Malik gave him a nod and patted Gadil's head, glancing up at the teacher who'd been in charge of the detention.

He was an older man with short white hair and a short beard. He seemed severe enough to make a first grader miserable, but something else made Malik's stomach churn slightly. He didn't know what it was, maybe it was because he'd had a bad teacher before and knew how hellish life could be when they passed judgment on you before they knew your circumstances.

This man obviously thought Gadil was a troublemaker and didn't care to think anything else.

Malik waved goodbye, just to be polite and let his son climb onto his back, using his belt like a step so he didn't choke him.

Desmond watched them go and chuckled nervously at the older man. "Aw, he's a good kid. Just didn't handle his bully very well."

The teacher was staring at him now with a shocked expression on his face. "And… You are?"

Desmond smiled a little too widely, dropped one of the bags and scrubbed his hand on his shirt front then held it out; "Desmond Miles."

The man hesitated a very slight grin crooking the edge of his mouth, staring intently at the younger man's face, he took Desmond's hand in a firm grip; "Nice to meet you, Mr. Miles."

"Yeah, Gadil's an OK kid. Smart as a tack. You know he's going into second grade and he's only six?"

"Really."

"Yeah, he got promoted ahead a grade, good kid. His dad's cool too."

"You've known them a while then?"

Desmond nodded; "Kind of, my boss lives in Malik's building."

"Your boss?"

"Altair, he's a PI."

"Oh, yes. I've heard Saree talking about him."

He picked up the garbage bags again. "You know Saree?"

"I'm her science teacher."

"Ah, that's cool… You're the new guy. The doctor, right?"

"Yes. Doctor Warren Vidic." He smiled in a cheerful way and took one of the bags from Desmond; "Let me help you with those."

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_**Evil grin**_

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	32. Chapter 32

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**Chapter 32; Dance, Fucker, Dance**

Ezio returned to Altair's on Monday morning, dropped off by Claudia on her way to work.

Shaun was standing outside smoking a cigarette. He looked agitated and when Ezio asked him what was wrong he just sneered.

"My sister's ferret killed my Bonsai!" He puffed frantically for a few seconds; "Been taking shits in the pot… fuzzy little bastard." A growl. "I'll make a hat out of him."

Ezio smiled nervously and went up stairs.

There was a pizza on Desmond's desk and he had two slices folded together like a sandwich and was taking larger than normal bites of it while he talked to Altair.

"So, my test is the twenty-ninth?"

"Yes, and if you bail on this one too you won't be able to take it again until October."

"Thanks for scheduling it."

Altair made a sound in his throat and bent back over the paperwork he'd been going over. He glanced up at Ezio and smiled.

A fluttering sensation settled in Ezio's middle, but he pushed through it and walked into the room. "Sorry I'm late, we got kinda' lost."

"It's alright."

He bounced nervously on the balls of his feet; "So… What do I do?"

Altair motioned to a chair in front of his desk. "Have a seat. I'm just checking some shit Walker sent over."

Desmond passed him a slice of pizza to gnaw on while Altair was reading.

Shaun came up a little while later and elbowed Desmond roughly to gain a little more space at the desk.

Altair straightened his papers and stuck them in a folder to his left, then stood and went to the filing cabinet; "Okay, Ezio, I'm gonna show you some photos today and ask you a few questions… If at any time something makes you uncomfortable, you just let me know, alright?"

"Sounds good." He drummed his fingers on his thighs and watched the PI pull a fistful of folders from the cabinet and walk back over. He sat and opened the top one, pulling out a series of six photos, starting with the most recent age progression. "Does she look familiar at all?"

She was a pretty woman, in her mid twenties, strawberry blonde hair, brown eyes.

Altair laid out the other photos, three more age progressions at what the numbers in the corner said were eighteen, thirteen and ten years old. Then he laid out the photos the family had provided. A small girl with a missing tooth grinning over her birthday cake.

Ezio wracked his brain, looking at each representation of her and trying to find something that looked familiar… but there was nothing.

"I don't recognize her."

He nodded and tucked the photos away again, taking up another case and laying out those pictures for Ezio's inspection.

It was the third picture in this group that made Ezio's stomach tighten unpleasantly. He gave a visible shudder and snatched the picture up.

It was a boy, the progression photo said fifteen. He had dark eyes and hair, but what made him so recognizable was the large birthmark on his left temple.

"I… I know this boy, Altair." He swallowed thickly, a sour taste building in the back of his throat. "He was at the house in Mexico Rodrigo took me to, where I m-met the first man who—"

Altair was writing quickly. "Are you absolutely sure?"

"Yes…" He related the story and everything he knew quickly, with as much detail as he could, his heart pounding.

He had only seen the boy once as Rodrigo's helper had hidden Ezio away. The boy had been half feral, growling and gnashing teeth that had been filed to sharp points. He didn't speak, and that had frightened Ezio terribly. He'd had nightmares about the boy for years afterward, believing him some mutant zombie ready to eat him alive.

By the time he'd finished talking he felt sick to his stomach.

Altair scooped the pictures into the file and sat it to his other side; "You want a drink?"

Ezio shook his head and tried to hide the fact his hands were trembling so he rummaged in his bag.

Altair watched him, then with a sigh stood and held out his hand. "Come on, you can sit out side here for a few minutes… You like plants, right? Your little brother told me you were growing plants on the roof at home."

Ezio nodded. "Roses."

Altair smiled wistfully; "My mother grew roses… My biological mother I mean." He lead Ezio out into his waiting room and took a chair a few feet away. "Malik's got some Damascus Roses on the roof."

"I-I've got white tea roses, and a few red ones I don't really know the name of. They'll be really pretty in a few weeks." He found his CD player in his bag and pulled it out, cursing under his breath when he realized there wasn't a disc in it this time.

"You had Pink Floyd here while I was sick, right?"

A shadow of a grin made it across Ezio's face; "Yeah."

"Okay, wait here…" Altair stood and walked quickly away, disappearing into his bedroom.

Desmond poked his head out of the office and gave Ezio a questioning look.

Altair returned with a fistful of CDs striding with purpose back to Ezio and dropping to his knees before him; "I don't really know what kind of music you like, but these are some of my favorites." He wetted his lips; "I've got _Dark Side of The Moon_ on vinyl somewhere too… The vocals on _Great Gig in The Sky_ just tear my fucking heart out—" He handed over the case. "I've also got Muddy Waters, fantastic blues, fantastic—Uh— BB King." He laughed to himself; "Blue Oyster Cult… Really showing my age here—Queen, you ever heard of Queen?"

Ezio nodded, somewhat unnerved by how Altair was acting. "I'm alright… I just—Just needed a minute to breathe."

He took the younger man's hands in his own; "I didn't mean to upset you."

"What upsets me is being treated like I'm fragile." He sighed; "Yes, I'm upset, but I'll be OK. Ignoring and pushing it away will just make it harder to face."

Altair didn't seem convinced at first. "You're sure you don't want me to call—"

"I'll be OK in a minute, I promise." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'm not gonna break just looking at pictures or remembering shit… I can do this. It might take a while, but I can do it."

Altair nodded and bowed his head; "Okay… I just—"

"You don't want to scare me, I know."

"Well… No, I don't want to scare you really, but fear is part of life… Without fear humans as a species would never have survived as long as we have. I just—" his voice lowered; "I just don't want to see you scared like you were in Morocco." He shook his head; "I don't want you to go through that again."

Ezio swallowed thickly, acutely aware that Altair still had hold of his hands. He felt himself speaking, more to the floor than anything, his voice quiet; "You're not afraid of anything…"

Altair was suddenly laughing. Rocking back to sit in the floor, elbows on his knees scrubbing his eyes with his fingertips.

"What's so funny?"

"You think I'm not afraid of anything?"

"Well, what are you afraid of then?"

"I'm terrified of guns. Absolutely HATE them. And even though I have to sometimes I don't like to get near cars, scared they'll blow up… I don't like people walking up behind me—" He started ticking them off on his fingers. "I have a deadbolt lock on the bathroom door and I keep a knife in the fucking shower because I'm afraid someone'll walk in while I'm washing my hair! Look!" He pulled his knife from his sleeve. "I don't go anywhere without this thing. I took it to the barbecue and I've got it when I'm in the office with Desmond and Giggles… How fucked up is that?" the knife disappeared into his sleeve again; "I'm scared of open water—"

Desmond chimed in where he was standing in the doorway to the office; "He hates cockroaches too! One got on him when we were on foot a while back and he went batshit. Did you know he can climb walls like fu—"

"Thank you, Des." He bowed his head.

Ezio remembered the week before, sitting on Altair's bed just looking at him while he slept. How startling it had been to realize the man wasn't impervious, wasn't like Hercules, but was just as flawed, just as normal as any human being. That same feeling washed over him again.

Altair was afraid of things just like he was. It was a good feeling, he decided. Warm and familiar.

His hands felt sweaty…

Ezio rubbed them discretely on his jeans. He glanced away, feeling red in the face; "Thanks… I-I think I'm ready to go back now."

Altair nodded and stood, his scarred hand rubbing circles between Ezio's shoulder blades as they made their way back to the office.

The photos of the boy he remembered were tucked back into their case file and handed over to Desmond, who took his cell phone and started making calls.

The next photo was of two younger boys, just babies in the initial picture, and nearing ten and twelve years in the age progressions.

"Either of them look familiar?"

He shook his head; "No… I'm sorry."

The file was set aside and another opened.

It went on like this all afternoon. The ten cases Altair had received upon returning from Morocco had doubled to twenty, and there were five more pending, waiting for more information to arrive.

All the kidnappings had been basically the same, none more recent than nine years ago, all cold cases.

By the end of the day they'd gone through seven of the twenty. And Ezio had recognized three. The boy from Mexico, and two young women. The two women were the most recent. Within the last year he'd seen them in his latest boss' catalogue.

Then he went on to explain, much to Altair's horror. That the catalogues were usually found pasted on billboards outside a Collector's place of business. Dozens of missing person's reports, and to purchase you took down the sign and made a deal.

He told them that the two girls had been on the catalogue with him, and when he'd last seen it, their photos were still pinned up there. He couldn't guarantee it, but they might still be in his old boss' collection.

This spurred Altair into immediate action, he didn't call Walker, or the FBI… Altair called Morocco.

He called Rosa and Paola.

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Giovanni was a little confused that evening when he climbed the steps to Altair's second floor office and found his son, Desmond, Eli's brother and Altair all gathered around a cell phone telling a woman with a thick accent how much they loved her.

"I don't want to interrupt… But what are you doing?" he had his shoulder in the door and was blinking dumbly at them.

The woman on the other end of the phone called out; "Who is that?"

Ezio smiled and waved his father over; "It's my dad, Rosa."

Giovanni said a quick hello and leaned closer to his son. "Why, may I ask, are you all worshiping this woman?"

Ezio cupped a hand to his mouth and whispered; "I was able to identify two girls who were in the same collection I was. Rosa just confirmed their photos are still in the catalogue."

"Catalogue?"

"It's a long story, I'll tell you later… But the thing is, those two girls are probably still there. We're trying to convince her to ask Antonio to have one of his men check. And if they are, Paola is going to get them out."

Giovanni blinked rapidly; "You mean you could have f—"

"I could have helped find two people, yes." His hands were opening and closing excitedly and his feet were waggling where he was perched on his knees backward in Desmond's chair.

"I don't hear any groveling!" Rosa sang from the other end of the phone.

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It was four AM a week later when Altair got the phone call.

He'd only gone to bed an hour before, so he wasn't too enthusiastic about getting up, but he knew he had to. That strange sixth sense told him this call was important.

The last week had been quite eventful. The tip Desmond had sent Walker about the boy in Mexico had impressed the FBI and Altair had found himself, as well as his two assistants, in league with the big boys.

Leo was happy to see him again, and after he'd been escorted to Altair's office, had insisted on making a new painting to hang on the wall opposite the one Rebecca's was hanging on. He said, with a smile, that he hadn't known Altair liked impressionistic work, maybe he would like something realistic as well? The FBI had supplied him with large stretched canvases and paints, and he'd already had a few job offers from other agents.

Leo looked better, he had clothes that fit, and three meals a day had filled him out. He looked healthy, his hair was shiny, his skin was clear, his eyes were brighter, and if it were possible, he seemed to have twice as much energy.

It was hard work keeping up with the Feds in Altair's opinion, but it was good experience for Desmond, who he thoroughly believed didn't think being a PI was hard work.

The good thing about working with the government though, was that Altair had more reach now. He could actually take some of the cases he'd been reviewing, asking if Ezio knew the faces in photographs or not. His area of jurisdiction had become a hell of a lot wider.

Too bad the paperwork took up most of his time.

He'd filled out so many forms he'd started having nightmares about it. Waking up in a cold sweat thinking he'd forgotten to finish that report, or that he'd put the wrong name down. Stupid STUPID things that haunted him while he tried to rest.

He wanted to sleep very badly, so badly in fact, he'd started taking over the counter sleeping pills just to shut his brain up long enough to catch a few Z's.

He clicked the 'accept' button on his phone, trying to ignore the fact the rubber covering the buttons was starting to tear and fall off from so much use the past two months. "'lo?" he rolled onto his side and half buried his face in the pillow.

The other end of the phone was mostly quiet, in the background he could hear whimpering and Paola cooing in that sickeningly sweet demented voice of hers. "Oh, I'm sorry, did that hurt?"

Rosa's tone was stern, cold in a way that was slightly disturbing, and she spoke to someone else in the room before she answered Altair; "Clear that out… I don't want to see any of it. Just burn it all." She sighed wearily; "You told me to call if we found out anything about the girls?"

And he was suddenly very, very awake. He pushed himself into a sitting position and rubbed the sleep from his eyes; "Yes, what did you find?"

"One of the girls, the youngest, she's still here. She's five months pregnant… The elder one is dead… This piece of shit strangled her."

The whining voice in the background keened loudly and Paola cooed at him again.

Altair remembered screaming like that when she'd been trying to crush his testicles.

"What piece of shit?"

"The old boss… 'Tonio, Ugo, Paola and I came to look around and we found a catacomb under the cellar full of bones… There were bodies as well—Half eaten by rats and rotting…" Her voice shook. "We've also got over thirty kids here—The bastard was on one of them when Paola found him."

Altair had only experienced rage this sudden and all consuming twice in his life. The first time was after his biological mother died, he'd thrashed and screamed and cursed the doctors for taking her away. The second, he'd been so angry and frightened all he'd been able to do was scream and fight and claw at the other members of his squad and try to get into the ambulance, threatening their lives if they didn't let him get to his lover.

This time though, was different. This time Altair's mind was clear, calm, calculating. He shut everything else out but those last few words; _'The bastard was on one of them when Paola found him.'_

"Is the kid OK?"

"No, Antonio just left with him to the hospital… he was bleeding heavily and unconscious."

In his head Altair saw Ezio, the frightened little boy he remembered being pulled out of sight at the storage facility, helpless, horrified. Grotesque, nauseating mental images of that child being brutalized, of what must have gone through Ezio's head the first time he'd been touched flashed through Altair's mind like crime scene photos, he felt on the verge of vomiting and his hands were shaking. "Get those kids out of there… Take them to Paola's sister at the hospital, and from there call my brother, I gave you his number before, remember? Don't mention me, don't mention that you called me just now."

She didn't protest or even ask for an explanation, "Alright."

He swallowed thickly, climbing to his feet and fishing those knives he'd bought from the not-so-smart merchant out of his sock drawer and turned on the light. He lined himself up at the dart board, slipping them carefully into the waistband of his sweats as a sort of makeshift sheathe.

Paola called out in a rather bored voice, and Altair pictured her grinding her foot down on the bastard's balls even harder; _"What do we do with this sack of shit? The Pigs? I have always wanted to test that claim. Maybe we can make chum out of you for the fishermen! Does your cousin still own that boat, Ugo Darling? No? Pity… Perhaps the dog food factory? No, I wouldn't want to poison the poor puppies. Ah, what to do what to do!"_

"Castrate him! Cut out his tongue, gouge his eyes out, break his arms and legs! I know a man who would tattoo 'RAPIST' across his forehead and do a fantastic scarification to his face!" A man shouted.

"AH! Leave his ears alone! If we leave him alive I want him to be able to hear every screech, and scream and shout of horror when women and children see him! I want him to know that the monster he is inside is visible to all around him!" Rosa's voice was slightly sadistic.

The man made weepy desperate noises, pleading for mercy, and there was a sharp crack of breaking bone.

"Mercy?" Paola's voice had dropped to a deadly hiss; "Did you show Ezio mercy? Did you show that little boy mercy? Did you show that girl, or any of these poor children MERCY!"

There was a brief sound of a scuffle and Paola wrenched the phone from Rosa. She was breathing heavily but her voice was calm; "What do I do with him… Should I be merciful and kill him?"

"No…" Altair's mouth and throat felt terribly dry and he swallowed thickly, letting the anger roll through him, feeling it fill his chest and flow into his fingertips; "He doesn't deserve it."

Paola moaned, a deep, rich, erotic sound.

"Just make sure it hurts." And the first blade hit home on the dartboard.

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	33. Chapter 33

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**Chapter 33; Truth**

Ezio took Leo to see Marjory the morning after his first day of photo identification. They spent three hours talking, just the two of them. Ezio knew how difficult it could be to talk about it, to share and admit the things that had happened, but he also knew, just like Leo had said, it was freeing, just admitting it aloud. He knew that realizing why you felt certain ways was important. It gave you a sense of control over everything.

Leo needed that control. He needed to feel in charge of his life.

Things moved quickly all through June, and they spent quite a lot of time together again. Time that seemed so much happier than it had before. They were helping people. They were making a difference. They were righting wrongs that had been dealt to people just like them.

Leo had given the FBI information that brought six people home to their families. And the boy in Mexico Ezio remembered, as well as one of the two girls he'd identified had been found and were receiving medical help.

Bad men and women who had hurt them were paying for what they had done. Their victims were being freed and finding help. Finding hope.

It was heartbreaking at times, when leads turned up only dead ends, or bodies, but sometimes it was wonderful. Seeing news paper photos of happy crying faces, families together again after so long of being torn apart.

Information, the great swirling vortex it is, found its way inexorably back to them, and a woman in Portugal came forward, an aging stooped little thing with thick glasses and teeth she kept in a jar. She had a stubborn streak an aging photo of her estranged son and his wife with their tiny blonde haired blue eyed son.

Ezio knew things were getting better that day, especially when Leo grabbed one of the FBI agents who'd confronted him about the woman and her claims, a thin little man from New York, and hugged him tightly, dancing in place and tugging manically at his hair. His voice evaporated save high pitched little bat like screeching noises as he brandished the faxed copy of the photo over his head like spoils of war.

Leo never touched people, and he didn't let anybody but Ezio touch him.

Ezio felt satisfied, avenged… Whole. He had his family back, and now someone who had meant so much to him may have found someone he never believed existed.

Leo had stopped dancing long enough to hold the photo at arms length staring at it, then bring it close to his chest and shout; "I knew there was a reason I'd learned Portuguese!" before starting all over again.

Ezio and the entirety of the FBI staff with them had burst out laughing.

Marjory was amazed by his progress and near the middle of the month she had asked him to speak at a support group she mediated on Friday nights for victims of rape and domestic abuse.

The world didn't seem like such a scary, ugly place anymore…

And twice a week, when he went to Altair's office, he found himself watching the older man. Found himself returning curious gazes and little smiles that found their way across Altair's features, brief tiny things… So small he sometimes wondered if they were really there at all or if he was imagining them.

Things slowed down toward the end of June, the paperwork tapered off. Leo applied for a work visa and had started doing portraits and design work in his free time, and even though the old woman in Portugal hadn't turned out to be his grandmother, they had claimed one another, DNA be damned.

Ezio's sessions with Marjory had become steadily more intense. Now, instead of finding out the why of his emotions and learning to control it, he was focusing on just feeling. He was embracing the unknown, the frightening aspects of himself.

None more so frightening for him than when he'd woken up one morning from unpleasant dreams, to find a stiffness in his sweats.

He'd panicked at first and locked himself away in the bathroom under a cold shower until it had deflated, then hidden it for a few days, pretending it hadn't happened.

But it had happened again, and the fear of what it meant drove him to call Marjory at half past nine in the evening, dripping wet from another cold shower and hiding in his room.

It had been embarrassing, talking about it, telling her how his body had reacted, but she had been very understanding, and let him come in for an hour the next morning.

She'd explained that his body wasn't looking to harm anyone, or craving harm itself. That those memories were all the experience he had, and the only thing his body knew. She told him not to rush into anything, that there was no right answer she could give. That she could only try to help him figure it out.

He felt cheated and disgusting when he left her office. Like there was something wrong with him, or that all the progress he'd made had been in vain.

In the car on the way home, his father spoke; "What's wrong?"

And because he'd promised after the mirror incident, that he wouldn't lie or keep things from him, he took a deep breath and just said it; "I'm afraid to touch my penis."

Giovanni spluttered and almost crashed the car into the bus ahead of them

He was a loving man, and was no stranger to intercourse… four children proved that. But Giovanni Auditore was also a private man, some may have called him shy when it came to talking openly about sex.

He turned a brilliant red color; "Oh…"

Ezio looked out the window embarrassed. "You did ask."

His father sighed; "yes, I did, didn't I…"

It was quiet for a few tense moments and then Giovanni did something Ezio hadn't expected him to do.

"You—uh—h-haven't touched yourself since you got home?"

"Papa, you don't have to do this. It's not important."

"If it's causing you so much worry, it is important. You're my son, I love you and I want to help… you'll just have to be a little tolerant, I'm not very good at talking about it."

Ezio looked at him, noticing how red his father was in the face, but at the same time, how open his expression was. A wave of gratitude crashed over him. Here they were, talking about something that made his father openly uncomfortable… but doing it anyway because Giovanni knew he needed to.

He swallowed and cleared his throat, searching for some place to start, ways to phrase it that his father wouldn't be so embarrassed. He decided the best way to do it was to not look at one another. It was easier to discuss such sensitive subjects when you didn't have eyes on you.

"I woke up the other day and… There—It w…"

"And it frightened you?"

"Not so much its presence… But it frightened me because I'd been dreaming about a man… raping me."

Giovanni let out a slow breath.

"Marjory said that it was just because that is all the experience I have, and it doesn't mean that's what I want, but it's happened three times now and it's becoming painful to ignore."

"Why are you ignoring it?"

"Because of the dreams."

"Well, I think Marjory is right… Okay, look it this way. If you were taught to spin around three times before you went through a doorway or else it would fall on you, you'd turn around three times before you went through a door, wouldn't you."

"I suppose…"

"Well, let's just say that all your life you'd lived in a community that everybody did it as well. But, one day someone tells you to just go through the doorway… you're going to want to turn around three times, aren't you? Because that's all you know to do. That doesn't mean you can't just go through the doorway though does it?"

Ezio felt his brows scrunching downward.

Giovanni gnawed his lip a moment and tried again; "Have you ever touched yourself?"

"Have you?"

His face went almost purple and his mouth opened and closed fish like a few times, but after a moment and a few deep breaths he seemed to settle himself and he looked Ezio right in the eye; "Yes, I have… In fact, I have recently."

Ezio's nose wrinkled up. "Why. Do you and mother not—"

"Oh, we do, we do… Frequently enough—but t-touching yourself is different. Sometimes it has nothing to do with sex and more to do with relieving stress. I-I think maybe relieving stress would be good for you. God knows you've been experiencing a lot of it lately."

"How is it different?"

"S-sex—Real consensual sex is an issue of trust and respect. I trust your mother, and she trusts me. We respect one another so much we're able to—to be helpless together. There is a substantial vulnerability during the act, Ezio. You're opening up to another person and sharing yourself, not just bodily, but spiritually as well." He wetted his lips and straightened in his seat; "You can have sex without that, but it is much better if you do have it… As for stress relief, I—w-what I mean to say is, you just r-relax and try to make yourself feel good. Forget everything else and focus on something pleasurable, or perhaps even nothing at all."

"What do you think about?"

He cleared his throat and glanced at Ezio from the corner of his eye, then with a quiet whine; "I don't want to hear you repeating this, alright?"

Ezio nodded, feeling somehow scandalous, sharing such intimate secrets, with his father of all people.

"It's not even sexually arousing in any shape or form… it's just something that relieves stress." He sighed in a humiliated way and bared his teeth at the street ahead of them; "I have a friend in Italy, his name is Lorenzo, he, Mario and I used to run around together a lot when we were younger, we'd race his Ferraris but… Well I always—inexplicably— end up thinking about your mother punching him in the mouth when she was four months pregnant with Federico because he'd gotten angry and said she was fat."

He couldn't keep from giggling.

Giovanni's face was red as a fire engine and he shook his head at his son; "Don't you ever tell your mother about that… She'd choke me."

"Why do you think about _that?"_

"I don't know… Honestly, I don't." He released a nervous breath; "I wish I did… Your mother would probably quote Freud at me if she knew." His fingers drummed on the steering wheel.

Ezio smothered his laughter and bowed his forehead into his father's shoulder. "What about before you met mother?"

Giovanni was silent for a few breaths, then with a little grin and a sigh he spoke softly; "I've only ever been with your mother, Ezio… And before her I-I was quite friendly with my hands and a couple issues of Playboy I stole from Mario."

He considered this for a few seconds; "That's kind of sweet… That you've only been with her I mean. Not the Playboy part… You're lucky." He leaned away and gazed out the window thoughtfully.

Traffic moved slowly forward a few more feet and a couple cars ahead of them a homeless man started ranting at a taxi cab, kicking the tires before the driver blasted the horn at him and tried to scare him away.

"Ezio?"

He hummed but didn't look at his father.

"Was e-every time against your will?"

His stomach tightened, and after a moment he answered; "Not every time… I don't…" He shifted his jaw in his palm; "It was easier to take sometimes if I played along… it hurt less if I pretended to enjoy it—so long of pretending the line between fantasy and reality starts to fade, and pretty soon it's less about them making you, and more about you telling yourself you want it."

Giovanni's knuckles were white where he was gripping the steering wheel. He swallowed past a lump in his throat; "Finding pleasure does not mean you consent."

"Then what does it mean?" his voice was thick.

"It doesn't mean anything."

Ezio looked at him shocked.

"You just explained it. _'So long of pretending, the line between fantasy and reality fades'_… That's all that happened Ezio. Your body was tricked. The human body can be tricked into doing some very crazy things, including finding pleasure in a painful situation."

"But why am I thinking about it now? Why am I dreaming about it and waking up like that." His throat felt tight and he had to grind his teeth to keep his breath from hitching.

"Because it's all you know… You don't know what it's like to make love. I guarantee you, should your body be shown some kindness the dreams will change."

"But I don't want to have sex with anybody. I-I don't kn—"

"I'm not telling you to have sex with someone… I-I'm just—" he looked around with an awkward expression on his face. "Don't worry about anybody else, just learn about yourself for now, what feels right to _you._ Don't think, just m-make yourself feel good."

"Stress relief?"

"Yes."

"It doesn't make me a bad person that I've been dreaming about it and waking up… like that?"

"No, it doesn't make you a bad person. It just means your body needs release, and the only way it knows how to tell your mind this, is through… through your dreams."

"And the only reason I'm dreaming these things is because it's all I know." He sounded vaguely surprised.

"Right."

"Do you really think that if I had a… positive experience with someone the dreams would go away?"

Giovanni's face went red again. "I think you should get to know yourself before you worry about finding someone to—" His face screwed up thoughtfully, mouth quirked to the side and he turned to look at Ezio. "Not to sound insensitive, but… do you find yourself more attracted to women, or men?"

It was Ezio's turn to blush, a bright vivid pink all the way to his hairline. He wasn't sure how to answer… Didn't know what the answer would be even if he could.

They stared at one another uneasily for a few moments.

"It doesn't matter to me either way," Giovanni swallowed, trying to draw moisture back into his mouth. "But it might help you with your… your problem, to know something like that about yourself."

"I don't know."

"Well, have you interacted with a woman before?"

"A few times…"

"How was it?"

"It was kind of… boring."

"Boring?"

"Maybe boring isn't the right word. I was so tense they all ended up telling me to leave."

"Why were you tense?"

"I was used to people just taking their pleasure from me, not expecting me to give it." He could feel tension growing in the air between them. Anger rising, and he clamped his mouth shut tightly; "I'm sorry…"

His father's eyes looked shocked; "Why are you sorry?"

"I'm making you angry."

Giovanni scoffed; "You're not the one making me angry, I'm angry at the people who hurt you. I'm angry that people used you like that. I'm not angry at you at all. You've done nothing wrong."

He was quiet, thinking about that for a few minutes, "Would you still love me if I had?"

"If you had what?"

"If I'd done something wrong."

"Yes."

Ezio stared at him in disbelief; "You would still love me if I'd done something wrong."

"Yes. Is that so hard to believe? That I would love my son no matter what?"

He didn't reply, just sat there staring.

Giovanni glanced at him; "You haven't done anything wrong, have you?"

Ezio swallowed thickly and seemed to shrink in his seat, fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt.

He could feel his father's eyes on him, uneasy, maybe even a little frightened. "Ezio?"

Moisture dripped from his eyes and he slapped at it angrily, staring at his knees as he spoke; "Leo was sick… the man who owned us was going to kill him… So, I went out a-and I found a few other collectors, small time men who thought they were kings, they weren't very smart. A-and they saw what I was."

"What you were?"

He didn't look up, but touched the side of his mouth. "Borgia did this to everyone he took, as well as a mark on the inner thigh upon delivery… it's like a maker's guarantee of freshness I suppose." He swallowed again, his mouth feeling dry, his hands shaky. "But these others saw… And they gave me money to come and work for them." He chuckled humorlessly his eyes watering. "I went to about ten different men that night, they didn't know, and I took their money and paid off Leo's debt, then took him to the hospital, paid for his operation, and looked around for someplace he could stay, someplace he would be safe."

"That Rosa woman, you told us about."

He nodded, pressing himself tighter against the door because the emotionless tone of his father's voice was scary. He would rather the man be yelling and screaming and perhaps even threatening him than to be so quiet and calm. It suddenly felt like the past month of change hadn't happened, and he was back to the terrified flinching person he'd been before, hiding in his room so nothing could hurt him.

"I found R-Rosa's aunt, she offered to let Leo stay there… I didn't trust her, so I watched her for the whole time Leo was in the hospital, she wasn't bad like I'd thought she was, so when he was discharged I took him there…"

Giovanni's hand was gentle, easy against the top of his head, petting over his hair, and his expression was a mash between horrified and astounded. "I still haven't heard what you've done that's so wrong."

He nodded and seemed to drum up courage, scratching at his thighs through his jeans and rubbing his palms against the spot. "W-when I knew he was safe I-I went back to the boss a-and—" And Ezio's eyes overflowed, his breath catching in his throat. There was no sound when he spoke, the words just played on his lips; "I killed him."

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	34. Chapter 34

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**Chapter 34; Fast Cars**

Giovanni stared at him, his hand still molded against the top of his son's head.

Ezio was pressed tightly against the door of the car, fingers tangled around the safety belt his eyes pleading even as moisture dripped steadily down his cheeks. "I w-went back and he was there, sleeping. I-I knew… I knew if he found out what I'd done that he'd kill me, then he'd find Leo and take him back because Leo doesn't like violence, because he's so afraid of them and would do whatever he was told to keep from being hurt. I-I couldn't let that happen. You have to understand that, I couldn't let that man h-hurt him again!" He swallowed, looking as if he might vomit; "S-so I just—" his hands curled and pushed forward gently, just barely half an inch, but it was substantial enough that Giovanni knew.

"You…" he cleared his throat and brushed Ezio's hair behind his ear then started again; "You did what you had to do to protect yourself and your friend… it was an ugly circumstance and I—I'm sorry for that."

"D-do you hate me?"

"No."

"Are you angry?"

"N—"

A car behind them blasted its horn, and Giovanni looked up, noticing traffic had eased and he was just sitting there in the middle of the road. He growled, rolled down his window and waved them around, cursing under his breath as he pulled into an empty parking spot, the emergency flashers blinking. Then he turned and took Ezio's face between his hands forcing their eyes to meet. "I am not angry with you."

"You promise?" It came out in a whine, his whole body shaking, like a dog that had been kicked too much, his gaze hopeful but wary at the same time.

"I swear to you. I am not angry. I feel sick because you were forced to do something like that to protect yourself and your friend. I don't really know what to say or how to comfort you with this. But I promise you, Ezio, I am not angry, I don't hate you."

"Am I going to go to prison?"

"Why would you go to prison?"

"Because I killed him. I did something awful—Y-you should hate me! I'm a bad pers—"

Giovanni's fingers shifted and he covered Ezio's mouth. "Look at me. Now, I want you to be entirely, brutally honest with me, understand?"

He hesitated, looking fearful, but nodded and the hand was removed from his mouth.

"Would this man have hurt you? Would he have killed you for what you did?"

Ezio nodded and tried to speak, but Giovanni pressed his index finger to his own mouth in a universal sign of silence, then his hand went back to Ezio's cheek.

"If he would have killed you for disappearing then what you did was justified. You were protecting yourself. If you don't believe me call your brother and ask. He's the family lawyer, remember?"

"H-he hasn't taken the bar yet—"

"He still knows the law, it just means he can't practice… Would you like me to call him?"

Ezio shook his head; "Don't tell him."

"I won't tell anyone… I love you, Ezio, your mother loves you too, _nothing_ you could _ever_ in a million years, do would change that."

He swallowed past the tightness in his throat and nodded, taking slow deep breaths, eyes closing so he could reorganize his thoughts. That horrible secret hadn't made his father change his mind. Hadn't made his family turn against him. He felt weightless, grounded only by his father's hands and the press of their brows together. "You won't hate me if I turn out to be gay will you? You won't be angry?"

Giovanni chuckled softly; "No, I won't hate you. And why would that make me angry? As long as you are happy I'm happy for you… Hell, if shaving your head and dying yourself purple made you happy—"

Ezio felt himself laughing, a choked almost startled sound because he hadn't been expecting his father to say something like that and he gripped the older man's shoulders.

"Anything else you need to say?"

He shook his head and let his breath out in a sigh. "Maybe one thing."

Giovanni hummed questioningly.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For not hating me because of… because of what I did. And thank you for talking with me, even though it makes you uncomfortable."

"You did what you had to do and you're still alive because of it… And I'll gladly forgo my comfort if you need to talk again. The books I've read since you came home say it's not uncommon for someone to find sex completely unappealing after something like what you endured, so I'm happy for you that you're able to put that aside and think about it."

Ezio relaxed back into his seat; "Do the books say anything about what I should do if I've got a crush on someone?"

Giovanni blinked as he pulled slowly back out onto the street; "You've got a crush on someone?" His lips curled up just a little and his cheeks turned pink. "That's kinda' cute."

Ezio covered his face and groaned; "Claudia warned me about this! You're not going to do that _thing _like you did to Federico and Petruccio are you?"

"What _'thing'?"_

"She said you giggled like a school girl and slipped condoms into their wallets and embarrassed them."

"I did not." He looked anything but innocent.

Ezio glanced at him rubbing the remaining moisture from his eyes, trying to let himself completely sink into the lighter mood. "You're such a liar."

"So… Can I ask who it is?"

"You can ask, but I'm not telling."

"Please?"

"No."

"I promise I won't 'giggle like a school girl'."

"It might not be a true crush at all anyway. I think it's just because he's had a big impact on my life."

"He?" Giovanni's lips started curling even more.

"Don't, I can see it in your eyes, don't do it."

"Can I get a second hint?"

He rolled his eyes, feeling like he could actually breathe now, "No."

"Please?"

"Papa, I don't even know if it's a real crush or if it's something like Stockholm Syndrome. I'm not even going to do anything—"

"Well, depending on who it is, maybe you should."

"What!" He stared, his mouth hanging open.

"Well, if it is just a crush it'll go away sooner or later. If its Stockholm Syndrome your decision making will start becoming intricately tied into this person and Marjory will pick up on it and we will be able to get help for you."

"And if it doesn't fade?"

Giovanni shrugged. "I spent six months in Italy to find out if it was just a crush… I ended up getting married to her." He grinned roguishly.

"W-well, what if it doesn't fade and he… he doesn't like me that way."

"Well, first thing to do before you commit yourself to finding out… Ask him. If he doesn't—doesn't like men, then you can move on. And you'll have discovered something about yourself in the process."

His nose wrinkled up, "Discovered what?"

"Well, until you've had experience and know for sure, I'd say you were open to both."

"Both what?"

Giovanni laughed quietly; "Open to both sexes, Ezio. Get to know and trust yourself and you'll be able to trust other people."

He nodded and let out a hissing breath. "So, I should get to know him better too? And go from there?"

"That's what I did with your mother. Besides, if it is just a crush and it fades, you've made a new friend."

He nodded and reached for a tissue out of the glove compartment, groaning in his throat. "Why is it that whenever you cry your nose gets stuffy."

"It's not always stuffy, some of it is swelling. Your mother has drops that are supposed to help that."

"Drops for her _nose!"_

"Women do insane things to stay looking like china dolls… Your sister is constantly dieting and it doesn't matter what you say to her she's convinced she's the size of your aunt Valencia!"

Ezio laughed, a loud almost choking sound and he bent over his knees trying to breathe.

Valencia, his mother's older sister God bless her, had been born with a genetic mutation that made her grow almost a full two feet taller than she was supposed to have, and a resulting hyperactive thyroid had left her weighting almost four-hundred pounds. She owned a big and tall boutique for women in Venice and was quite popular there… She also happened to hate Giovanni with a passion for absolutely no reason. Maria speculated that it was because Giovanni had chosen her over the elder sister and the bigger woman was just jealous. In all truth it was simply because Valencia just wanted to be pigheaded.

"Why are you laughing? It's a serious problem! My little girl thinks she's the size of that witch!" He was grinning as well.

"J-just watch the road, I want to make it home in one piece, thank you! I have to work tomorrow."

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Ezio took the train the next morning with Petruccio, enjoying the tunnels and scenery while his younger brother texted nonstop.

"Hey, did you know our schools are going to be only like a mile apart?" Petruccio looked up grinning. "Eli's gonna be a veterinary surgeon."

"I didn't know there was a difference between a veterinarian and a veterinary surgeon."

He waggled his hand like a seesaw in the air. "She'll have an emphasis on smaller animals. Like ferrets and cats and stuff, and I'll be working with birds… There's this avian sanctuary in Colorado that houses raptors injured by hunters or accidents. They do internships… But you have to be eighteen to apply."

"Why do you like bird's so much?"

Petruccio just glanced up at him and grinned.

Shaun looked on the verge of a murderous rage when the train pulled to a stop. Eli was standing beside him, dressed terribly unusually in a short black and gray plaid skirt and what looked to be one of her older brother's shirts, buttoned only half way down with the trailing ends tied into a knot under her breasts and what Ezio thought was his younger brother's red tie.

Petruccio turned pink and stared at her as he stumbled off the train, his legs stiff. Ezio gave him a good natured push toward the girl and looked around for Desmond…

But Desmond wasn't there.

"Where's—"

"His test is today." Shaun groused, watching how his sister seemed to be preening, batting her eyes and scuffing the toe of her checkerboard shoes against the concrete. "Oi, stop that." He glared at her, then said something in a language Ezio didn't know.

Eli poked her tongue out at him and saluted. "Whatever you say Sir Wanks-a-lot." Then she laced her fingers with Petruccio's and pulled him toward the exit. "Come on, I've got to find bed sheets for the dorm and I want a bitching poster to hang on the wall so the bint they've put with me thinks I'm a Satanist and leaves me alone."

"What's a bint?"

"Oh, love, I've so much to teach you."

Ezio wanted to salute her and wish her good luck as they left, but Shaun stole his attention.

"Right, we can either go to the office and wait until The Idiot and the Madman come back, or we can go have a real lunch and some proper tea. Your choice, just so long as I can catch a smoke first."

"Lunch sounds good."

"Thank God… If I have to force myself through those greasy chips and a fucking _fruit salad_ again I'm going to injure someone." They marched out of the depot and down the stairs. Shaun lit up as soon as his feet hit the sidewalk, and they were traveling briskly away from the print shop to the west.

"I was on Google Maps last night and found a little restaurant not far from here that serves vegan food."

"I thought you said you weren't vegan?"

Shaun looked at him with doe eyes; "You actually remembered that! My God! I tell Desmond at least three times a day and he still thinks I'm vegan. Won't even so much as pick up a grilled cheese for me even though I tell him to! It's always fucking CHIPS!" He puffed angrily. "He's an idiot! Fucking useless!"

"You really must hate him."

"Hate is a strong word… I don't hate anybody." His hands shook; "I just wish I'd never met him and I DESPISE how STUPID he is! It's as if everything he does he does only to set me off!"

"Like what?"

"The grilled cheese! I asked him to bring back a grilled cheese from that diner on the corner last week, and he brought me CHIPS and a fruit salad! I've gotten to the point that I hate fruit salad. It makes me want to-to pelt him with grapes!" He stuffed the burnt end of his cigarette into the ashtray on top of a garbage can as he passed, then pulled out a new one from the pack and lit it as well. "We were doing mock reports the other day, using one another, and he wrote my name weird. The top of his 'S's' are smaller than the bottom. And the way he crosses his 'T's', makes them look like tridents!" He made a swooping motion in the air to illustrate his point; "You know he makes his 'J's' backward?"

"There's a 'J' in your name?"

"No, there's a 'J' in _his_ name, but he makes it backward!"

"There's not a 'J' in his name."

"What?" he blinked stupidly; "Yes there is, 'Desmond_ James_ Miles'."

"No, it's 'L-A-M-E-S'. The person who typed up his birth certificate spelled it wrong, so he's just kind of owned it. Only he pronounces it like 'llamas' instead of 'lames'. That's how he got the nickname 'llama boy'."

"Llama boy?" He scoffed; "It's fitting."

"My mom thought it was cute." He looked around, feeling an uncomfortable ache starting to build in his ankle and leg; "Is it much farther? And if it is, can we take a cab back?"

Shaun grunted noncommittally and kept puffing away.

"Hey, back at the train station, what language were speaking to your sister?"

"It wasn't a language. It was code I created. I call it Beagle."

"Beagle? Like the dog?"

"I like dogs. I basically told her to keep her mits to herself."

"I'd be more worried about my brother."

"You obviously don't know a thing about Elizabeth then. She's mad I tell you… Stark raving." He smashed his cigarette out and jerked his chin toward a dark red awning hanging over the sidewalk about half a block up. "There it is… If the reviews are to be trusted it's a nice place. As long as they have bread slathered in cheese I'll be happy."

Throughout the entirety of lunch, Ezio discovered that Shaun liked to talk. A LOT. And all he seemed to want to talk about, or in actuality complain about, was Desmond.

"He snorts when he laughs! And the way he just prances around all the time like he's God's gift or something. And he's forever STARING at me." He attacked his food, a giant grilled cheese and a bowl of tomato soup. "I catch him sometimes, just STARING at me with this doe eyed moronic look on his face, like he's gone brain dead… sometimes I just want to slap it off!"

Ezio just nodded and crumbled more crackers into his chili.

"And he licks his lips, keeps them chapped, and has this tube of balm in his pocket! Pulls it out and scrubs his mouth with it like a three-year-old with a fucking crayon!"

The chili was very good.

"And he thinks he's showing off climbing all over creation. He thinks he's Altair incarnate! I swear he does! Thinks he's such tough shit. I hope he falls out of a tree or off a fire escape… It'd serve him right! Be stuck in the bloody hospital with his arms in casts and his legs in traction." He chuckled darkly. "That would be the day."

The tea was good too, Shaun had been right about that.

"That girlfriend of his is the funniest thing though. She's a flaming lesbian with that roommate of hers, whats-her-name the annoying one with the black hair, dresses like someone from an eighties science fiction? He's so pathetic he can't even see what's going on right under his nose!"

Salt, where was that salt shaker?

"And have you seen the way he dresses? When he takes off that ridiculous jacket just look at him. You can see the brand of his underpants when he bends over! He won't wear a belt, God forbid he should wear a belt!"

"You like him don't you."

And Shaun spat tea out his nose. He coughed and choked and darted from the table toward the bathroom with his face red and a napkin clamped over his mouth.

Ezio chuckled to himself and enjoyed the last of his chili in silence.

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Altair's office seemed oddly empty without the PI there. Even more so with Shaun being unnaturally silent. Reading notes and going through a stapled pamphlet Altair had given him outlining procedure and the _Do's and Don'ts_ of the business.

Ezio sat in the chair opposite Altair's unoccupied one with the books his mother had given him opened, working through some English and Mathematics. He was determined to complete it all and get a GED before Christmas. He wasn't sure what he would do after that, but it was a goal to work toward. It was a raspberry in the face of every person who'd hurt him. A, 'fuck you this is my life I won't let what you did ruin me.' His education had become very important to him. It represented normalcy and everything he was working for. His health, his independence, his sense of safety.

There was a noise in the hall and Ezio lifted his head.

A few seconds later Altair shuffled in dragging Desmond by the hood of his jacket. "Sit down and stop worrying so much."

Desmond had his hands over his face; "I failed, I know I failed. Oh, God I'm such an IDIOT!"

"Well, there's something we finally agree on." Shaun murmured to himself.

Desmond dropped into his chair and bent his head between his knees, gripping his ankles and panting as if he couldn't breathe. "When can I take it again, I know I failed!"

"Don't worry about it." Altair toed off his shoes and padded behind his desk, popping open the window. The noise from the street wasn't as bad as it usually was. Altair stuck his arm out, feeling around on the side of the building and after a moment, pulled his hand back inside holding a strip of duct tape on which there was stuck a key.

Ezio blinked at it; "What is that?"

Shaun sighed miserably; "That's the key to the filing cabinet… Malik, is a fucking snoop—"

"Hey, watch your language." Altair pointed at him and narrowed his eyes darkly. "Malik may be a snoop, but he's not a 'fucking' snoop."

Shaun turned back to his paperwork with his lips pursed.

Desmond whimpered and kept mumbling that he'd failed and they'd never let him take the test again.

Altair rolled his eyes at him and peeled the tape off his key, shutting the window with a snap. "Okay, good news and bad news… Good news is there are only two sets of photos left for you to look at. Bad news is, I'm at my limit and I can't take anymore cases at the moment." He tapped the key against his fingers. "I make it a point not to have any more than five workable cases open at once, that way I'm least likely to get distracted or forget about one."

"You've had more summons and shit than five at once you liar." Desmond glared at him hatefully.

"Those are easy, open and shut, two hours at the most on a good day. Workable cases take longer. The FBI can handle these."

"The FBI will shove them to a back burner like they've been doing the other ones." Desmond mouthed a crease in the knee of his jeans, and Altair really looked at him for a minute.

"Des, you're folded up like a paperclip, that can't be comfortable."

"I'm very flexible."

Shaun muttered something.

"What did you say?" Desmond glared daggers at him.

Shaun shook his head and his lips curled up maliciously. "Just commenting on how such a position could be beneficial for certain activities."

"Fuck you, Hastings."

"You'd like that wouldn't you." Shaun grinned at him, nose wrinkled up in disgust; "Admit it! You just want someone to bend you over a table and fuck you up the ass. You'd squeal like a schoolgirl and beg for more, wouldn't you."

Desmond moved like a cat, straight sideways as if he'd passed through some sort of portal or pulled a move like something out of the Matrix, and grabbed Shaun around the waist.

Altair cursed under his breath and shoved the key into Ezio's hands, jumping at the two young men wrestling on the floor. "That's it! I warned you! I warned BOTH of you!"

Shaun squealed and Altair jerked him back by his ear. Desmond flailed and tried to crawl away a look of absolute horror on his face but Altair grabbed him too.

They swatted and kicked at one another childishly even as Altair pulled and forced them to their feet, their shoulders hunched, heads turned to the side, wincing and whining.

Altair pulled them, his socked feet thudding, out the office door and down the hall. He shoved Desmond at the door to the storage room, still twisting his ear. "Open it."

Ezio stepped into the hall and watched.

"Des, open it!"

He whimpered but pushed the door open and let Altair lead them in.

Ezio followed simply because he was curious as to what Altair would make them do in this strange room. It looked slightly different than it had when he'd peeked into it before. The bird swing like apparatuses hanging from the rafters were gone, just a bundle of rope looped around a ceiling joist. And most of the boxes had been stacked in one corner.

Altair shoved both Desmond and Shaun toward the wall and stomped to one of his display cases. He opened it and turned then threw something at the Brit's feet.

Shaun jerked backward at the thunk of something sticking in the mat but Desmond just crossed his arms, and glanced down at what Altair had thrown. "You can't be serious."

"If you two are so intent on killing one another, at least make it quick. All that slapping and scratching, you look like preteen girls having a hissy-fit." He crossed his arms loosely over his chest. "Now, Des, I know for a fact you can fight better than that… so Giggles, you get the knife."

"That seems totally unfair, I won't do it." Shaun crossed his arms as well. "You're barmy."

"Well if you want a gun you have to bring it yourself."

"Fine." Desmond kicked off his shoes and went to the center of the room, fists raised; "Come on. I'm tired of this shit."

"You're acting like a little child!"

Altair was grinning dangerously. A slight, barely visible thing. "Pick up the knife."

"No."

"You scared?" Desmond's face wrinkled up mockingly and he twisted his fists at the corners of his eyes, frowning dramatically.

Shaun growled and bent, it took two tries, but he was able to pull the knife out of the floor and he held it before himself defensively. "Come o—"

And Desmond grabbed his wrist.

Ezio watched with wide eyes as Desmond twisted the Brit's arm behind his back, knocked the knife from his grip, kicked his legs from under him and pushed him to his face on the floor.

Shaun hit hard, the wind knocked from his lungs in an audible bark, the younger man's free hand grinding against the back of his head. His glasses skittered off somewhere near Ezio's foot.

Altair padded over, Shaun could barely focus on the older man's toes wiggling in his socks.

"You gonna stop with the gay jokes, or do I let him pop your shoulder out of socket."

Shaun growled, and twisted, his shoulders arching—

Ezio heard a loud POP, and Desmond was suddenly on his back. Shaun rolling to his feet gripping his left arm, he sneered; "You're fucking kidding me right? I've had worse than that rolling out of bed!" He leaned heavily against the wall for a second, forcing his shoes off and lifting his dangling left arm up and down, rolling his shoulder. There was another pop as it relocated and he darted toward Desmond.

Altair barely had time to kick the knife out into the hall before the two young men were nothing but a flurry of combat moves and curses. He stumbled back to stand beside Ezio with his eyes wide, watching. "He knows jujitsu… How the fuck! Did you know Giggles knew jujitsu?"

It was frighteningly dance like. Desmond's personalized mash of street fighting, karate and what moves Altair had taught him from his military days, against Shaun's expert, fluid movements.

"Aren't you gonna stop them?" Ezio's face had gone pale and he looked a little nervous. "They're fighting in a room full of knives and vinyls… You should stop them."

Altair whistled shrilly; "Stay away from my fucking records or I'll kill you both, understand?"

They moved away from the boxes.

"I still think you should stop them."

Altair flapped his hand disinterestedly; "Let'em fight it out. They're a pain in the ass when they're together and I'm tired of it. Come on." He scooped up Shaun's glasses and the knife he'd kicked into the hallway then went back to his office.

After a moment Ezio followed him.

"Are you sure it's safe to let them do that, alone?"

"Yeah, they won't kill one another and if they do Malik'll help me hide the bodies… He gets off on that kind of shit."

Ezio looked horrified.

"I was joking… come on." He took his key back and opened the file cabinet.

Ezio didn't recognize either of the boys in the photos, but kept staring at them for a little while longer, so he could collect himself.

Everything his father had said the day before was still ringing in his head.

_'First thing to do before you commit yourself to finding out… Ask him.'_

"Hey, Altair?"

He hummed and raised his head from whatever paperwork he'd been reading over.

"Do you—uh—Are y…" He sighed; "What are you?"

His eyebrows scrunched; "What do you mean… like my heritage?"

"No."

"Well, I'm not religious," he scratched nervously at his neck.

"No, I mean… I mean sexually."

He paled, eyes widening, then color leapt to his cheeks; "W-what are you talking about."

"Do you like women?"

He swallowed thickly; "Who wants to know?"

"I'm just curious." He wetted his lips and glanced at the floor then back up; "I'm trying to find myself, you know? And I—"

"Maybe you should be talking to your father, or your therapist about this."

"I already have… they both said the same thing. If I'm making you uncomfortable—"

"No, no, it's not that. It's just…" he rocked back in his seat and rubbed his face with both hands.

There was a thump and a loud curse from the other room as Shaun and Desmond continued fighting.

"It's just—I don't want to make _you_ uncomfortable, Ezio."

"You won't."

He sighed weightily, his brows bowing slightly, and after a minute he spoke. "I've been with a few women, but I've also been with a couple men. I'm kind of— _picky_ when it comes to sex."

"Like what?"

His blush deepened; "W-well—uh—D-do you know what bondage is?"

He nodded.

"I've got kind of a… W-what I mean is, I—uh— like being handcuffed and tied up and shit by c-certain women."

Ezio giggled. "Was that woman you were with at the barbecue…"

He shook his head; "No. She… Maybe in another life, but not now." He chuckled nervously. "She just got me drunk and I did something stupid."

"What did you do?"

"Not what you're thinking… I'd rather not get into it, if you don't mind."

He nodded and was quiet for a few seconds. "What about men?"

He flinched and looked up at the ceiling, slouching into his seat; "Men? Well it really depends on the man… I like kinda' switchin' it up sometimes, but I haven't been with another guy in years."

"How many?"

"A long time."

"How did you know?"

"Know what?"

"How did you know you liked men?"

Altair stared at him, then gave his head a little shake and looked at his hands, flexing them open and closed. "I—uh… I p-pitched my first tent in front of the whole high school boy's swim team when I was twelve. It was kind of obvious after that." He laughed quietly under his breath and his hands kept flexing, his eyes focused on the gap of his missing finger; "Look, Ezio. I'm glad you're finding yourself and all, but my sexuality is kind of a sensitive subject for me, and—" His teeth sank into his lip and for a long moment he was quiet. "I lost my career and my family because of it so—"

"What do you mean? I thought you were a PI?"

"I am… but Malik, K—Malik and I were in the military together."

"Oh, yeah… I saw a picture of the three of you in your room. That was his brother with you wasn't it?"

Altair's eyes flicked upward; "What?"

And the bottom of Ezio's stomach dropped out, realizing there may have been a reason those pictures had been stuck away in that book and not displayed in frames.

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	35. Chapter 35

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**Chapter 35; All in The Past**

"What picture?"

Ezio swallowed and considered shaking his head and playing dumb, but there was a hurt, maybe even dangerous light in Altair's eyes. "T-the ones you had in that book on your…"

His eyes widened and the color drained away from his face.

"I-I'm sorry. They were laying there when I came over—I didn't know."

Altair swallowed, it looked very difficult, and he slouched further into his chair, rubbing at his eyes. "It's alright."

"You're angry."

He inhaled deeply; "Yeah."

Ezio wondered if he shouldn't leave quickly, but decided sudden movements, or running away may just make him more angry. Might make Altair want to hurt him.

"I'll get over it though… Just—" His voice dropped to a low whisper through what sounded like a sore throat; "I don't like showing those photos to anyone, because of… certain things." He peered out between his fingers and noticed the wary, close to panic look on Ezio's face. "Just because I'm angry, doesn't mean I'm gonna hurt you."

He didn't look convinced.

Altair watched him for a long while. "I hide those pictures because it hurts to look at them and if Malik knew they were there he'd take them. He's even more sensitive than I am about it." He scoffed and rubbed his head; "Who can blame him after what I did…"

Ezio's brows pulled together; "What do you mean?"

Altair glanced over his shoulder, making sure he could still hear Desmond and Shaun fighting. Shaun was growling and Desmond was telling him repeatedly in a muffled voice; _'You're cheating! You're cheating you limey bastard! GET OFF MY HEAD!'_

Altair rubbed his brow wearily; "Malik and I were friends in school, his li— his little brother Kadar liked to hang out with us a lot. He was always tryin' to impress us, me especially. He wanted to be 'big and tough' and make Malik proud. We made him do really dumb shit sometimes. We climbed the big tree in my dad's back yard once and stranded him. He cried and begged us to help him down but we just laughed at him… so he got mad and jumped out like a lemming and landed on us. He had a concussion, Malik and I had broken ribs. We kinda gave him some respect after that… When Malik and I enlisted he did too…"

He hadn't uncovered his eyes yet and Ezio wondered if he was OK under there.

"Malik has always been kind of a snoop, like I said, and somehow he got in good with a few of the higher-ups, got the three of us in the same squad when we were deployed. We thought it was going to be just like when we were kids playing war in the backyard… Malik didn't care about my preferences, so it was safe for me to be Out with them. It was really a relief. I didn't feel so choked anymore." He chuckled, a rather heartbreaking sound. "I guess I shouldn't have been surprised when it happened, I mean the kid made me in my mother's skirt look straight, the way he kept fussing with his hair and taking duckface pictures of himself in his prescription sunglasses… those things were fucking hideous." He smiled distantly for a few minutes then dropped his hand and gestured to his face; "Kadar was born with low pigment in his eyes, made'em sensitive as hell, he couldn't be in much sunlight without sunglasses or something shading them. I don't know how he passed the physical, and considering the guy who gave it to us was hitting on me the whole time, I really don't _want_ to know how he passed… He beat up this idiot who stole his glasses one day. I mean really just beat the fear of God out of this guy, then came back to the room wearing them looking like Don Johnson or some shit—it must be genetic or something 'cause Malik's the same way. Whenever he gets into a fight and wins, afterward he wants sex and…" His lips compressed; "A week later we were on foot, and I saw this guy from the corner of my eye, toss something into a car and take off. So, instead of calling it out like I was supposed to, I broke formation and ran after him… the next thing I know there's an explosion and when I turn around—" His fingers twitched slightly and he gave a little shiver. "There was a hole in Kadar's chest I could have put my fist through, and he was screaming… And I found Malik's thumb like s-sticking in a wall thirty feet from him." His eyes were wide but distant and his right hand was twitching, like he was feeling for something that should have been in his pocket, or maybe on his thigh.

Ezio just sat there staring at him in shock.

"They took Malik out first, and I just stood there staring at Kadar and he was staring at me… His eyes were open." He shivered; "He looked scared, like he'd just realized the world was an ugly place and he was smack dab in the shittiest pile of fucked up there was… then his pupils just kinda' spread out… Like a flower opening up." His eyes were eerily wide and he had an expression on his face like maybe he was a little confused, mystified.

"Altair…"

He rubbed his face and leaned his elbows onto his desk. "I went a little crazy and started screamin' I threatened to shoot my commanding officer in the face when the medics tried to move him… the next thing I know they're slapping me with a discharge… seems they decided it would be best to use the worse offence of being openly gay rather than throw me in prison for threatening the CO… My dad found out and I made it home and onto the porch—he hit me, called me all sorts of names, threw me down the stairs and into the street and told me I was dead to him."

"How could he do that! He's your father! It shouldn't matter if you were adopted or not, he—"

"It's not uncommon, Ezio. I was lucky."

"Lucky?"

"Yeah. Two of my brothers still talked to me. Walker would look for me and make sure I had a good meal whenever he could find me. Chris would slip me some money every time he saw me. I knew kids, thirteen, fifteen, sixteen year-old kids, who had absolutely nothing and nobody. I was lucky… I lived for almost two years on the streets. I don't know if you know this, but the streets of Chicago are tough! I started carrying a knife just to make sure I wasn't mugged and gang raped for my shoes! Then one day Malik walked up to me. I was sick, hadn't had food that I hadn't fought rats for in a week… And I thought Malik was coming to kill me like he'd said he would do. It was kind of a relief, I thought if he killed me then maybe I'd be able to rest and I wouldn't feel so terrible, I wouldn't remember… But he didn't, he brought me here, before this place was any better than a tenement. We didn't talk for almost a month, just him barking orders at me and throwing insults. I took it and I thanked him for it. I felt like I deserved everything he hit me with… I helped him remodel the down stairs and this floor. Then one day he shoves a stack of papers at me and tells me to memorize them. He'd coaxed and twisted arms and god knows what, and managed to help me get my license. I took four months worth of cases. Small time shit, summons, tailing people, looking for lost pets, and then one day I'm helping Hadiya shop for groceries while Malik was at the VA and I see a few street cops chasing this kid with a stolen purse, so I clothesline him, knock him on his ass and pin him. A month later I'm sitting here talking to your father."

And suddenly the silence from the other room became oppressive.

Altair sighed, thankful for a way out of a conversation he feared would end with him depressed and feeling like a sack full of shit, and stood. Rubbing his face with his sleeves, and shuffled out the door.

Ezio hesitated, before he followed, feeling uneasy and shaky, trying to digest what Altair had told him. There were so many emotions clearly evident in what the PI had said, and Ezio knew the taste of each one. The fear, the sense of betrayal, the self-hatred… he knew it all.

That tightness and fluttering in his middle increased a little every minute longer he thought about it.

Out in the hall Ezio could hear faint murmuring, and by the time he and Altair reached the storage room door he could pick out the two distinct voices.

Shaun was laying on his back, looking like he'd been hit by a truck, clothes torn, his nose bloody, prodding gently at a reddened, bruising knot around his left eye. He was speaking and seemed to be in the middle of a story or an explanation of some kind; "—our father would knock us around when we were young. My shoulder had dislocated nine times before I was twelve. I can do it almost at will now…"

Desmond was laying perpendicular to him, his head on the Brit's stomach with his shirt hiked up gripping at a welt shaped like Shaun's foot on his ribs, rubbing his jaw. "My dad didn't cook… ever. If I didn't eat lunch at school I didn't eat. And if he had one of his girlfriends around I was expected to disappear. I ended up practically living on the couch in Altair's old room."

"So that's why you're always stuffing your face, and dressing up like him, eh?"

He hummed and after a moment of rubbing at his side; "How's your nose?"

"Bloody… How 'bout your teeth?"

"They'll be fine once they stop rattling."

Shaun grunted. "I'm sorry I kicked you in the face—"

"It's alright, it didn't even hurt."

"What are you on about! I you were crying!"

"No I wasn't." He snuffed.

"You're an idiot."

"You're an asshole."

Altair propped his shoulder on the doorframe and crossed his arms; "You're both nuts… Now, we've got work to do, are you gonna stop acting like lunatics?"

They turned in unison to look at him with unhappy eyes.

Altair scoffed. He saw a little bit of himself and Malik in them, and he just wanted to smack their heads together like eggs and tell them to get over themselves.

"You're a jerk, Altair… you gave him a knife! A KNIFE!"

"You disarmed him quick enough. I guess you are actually listening when I teach you shit." He waggled a finger at Shaun; "And where the fuck did you learn jujitsu!"

"I went to university in London when I was seventeen, was roomed with a bloke named Nils who taught it to kids… I did his Latin homework and he showed me a few things."

"Okay, you've got yourself a job."

Shaun blinked at him stupidly. "W-what?"

And Altair pointed at Ezio; "Teach him… And if you teach Malik's kids too I'll make it worth your while."

Ezio blanched.

Shaun raised his head; "Worth my while in what way?"

"Malik'd probably give you twenty bucks a kid a week, and I'll throw in fifty for Ezio and your own desk."

"Sold!"

Desmond whined and sat up gripping his ribs; "Hey, you never offered anything like that to me!"

"Because whenever you're around the girls you end up wearing a hat and nail polish… You're good with kids, Des, just not with instructing them." He waited until the two of them had climbed to their feet and were putting their shoes back on, Desmond limping slightly, and as they were heading back to the office, Ezio laid a hand on Altair's shoulder and stopped him.

"Why'd you do that?" He felt mortified, he wasn't defenseless. He wasn't weak, why did he DO that!

"I did it because it's not only a good way to defend yourself, but it's also good to build body strength." He prodded Ezio in the arm. "See if you can get Leo down here once a week. It'd do both of you good. Help build your confidence… And if someone should try to hurt you, you'll be able to stop them."

"What about Desmond? Shouldn't he learn too?"

"He knows karate. I paid for his lessons when he was thirteen… some kid was knocking him around."

"And you?"

Altair just chuckled under his breath and patted Ezio's shoulder.

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	36. Chapter 36

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_(10 Points to whoever gives me Title and Artist of the song Eli is singing! Hint, it is very political though not well known.)_

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**Chapter 36; Tiny Little Natives**

Eli, Petruccio came to realize, was probably the craziest person he'd ever been around. They went for lunch at a pizzeria not far from the train depot, and Petruccio discovered what Hawaiian pizza was, and that he absolutely loved it. He also discovered that Eli liked to slide her foot up the leg of his jeans and rub his shin with her toes.

At first he didn't know what the hell she was doing, but then her foot had started up his leg, inch by inch until her toes were resting dangerously close to his inner thighs.

It took him choking on a chunk of pineapple before she stopped.

After lunch they took a cab across town to the music store Mama and Claudia had told him about. They spent most of the afternoon there, trying on headphones and listening to CD tracks at the 'Try B-4 U Buy' station beside the counter.

That was also when Petruccio discovered Eli had no inner monologue, and she mimed the words, making dramatic faces and hand gestures while they had their heads pressed together to hear the music. _"Two fat men were walking through the forest, walking through the forest. Both of them in chorus. Oh my God! It's a tiny little native, tiny little native!"_ She scrubbed her knuckles against Petruccio's head, then grabbed him around the neck; _"Thank God we found him!"_

"What was that?" He chuckled.

She just pecked him on the cheek and sat the headphones aside, practically prancing toward the tapestries and posters displayed at the back of the store.

As far as Petruccio could tell her freshman college wardrobe would consist of band t-shirts and a pair of his flannel sleeping pants she'd stolen the night of graduation.

"Oi, we should go get somethin' pierced!" She prodded him jokingly in the ribs. "Or maybe dye our hair funny colors."

"My mother would kill me." He picked at her hair; "You could do blonde tips maybe and I don't think your brother would notice."

She made a rude farting noise between her lips; "I could dye it blue and he wouldn't notice, Sir Wanks-a-lot has been terribly distracted of late. I accidentally made a pair of his shorts pink in the wash and he didn't even bat an eye… It was really weird." She snapped her fingers; "Speaking of shorts, I need to do some delicates shopping later… Wanna come?"

"W-what?" He was sure his face was on fire.

"It's jus' underwear. I bet we wear the same size." She pulled the back of his pants out and inspected his tag.

He stood stock still staring at the opposite wall, in his head there was a little TRON like voice chanting _'she just touched my butt'_. "Y-you really have no shame, do you."

"Nope, not an ounce." She patted his backside appreciatively and turned back to the posters. "Do you know what dorm you'll be in?"

He nodded; "I've got it written down at home."

She nodded and without looking away from a large photo of an inverted pentagram surrounded by flames and dancing skeletons she spoke, almost as if she were commenting on the weather. "I'm not having a roommate… I just told Shaun I was so he wouldn't blow a gasket."

He nodded; "You're lucky. I'm going to have to share a bathroom with sixteen other guys… Group showers, and my roommate is a Junior."

She glanced at him; "I don't think you heard me… I _don't_ have a _roommate."_

"Yeah, I know. You'll have the room to your… yourself." His eyebrows drew down curiously. "Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"

She shrugged; "Your school is only about a mile from mine, and you've got a bicycle… I think you could make it to and from easily enough."

His heart skipped a beat. "You're serious, aren't you."

"Why not?"

He spluttered.

"Look, I'm not lifting my skirt and presenting myself, you can forget that… But, I'd like to still—still have _this_ while we're at school." She swayed gently and bumped her shoulder against his; "I like ya'."

He mumbled a return, his face gone red, and pressed his nose to her shoulder.

"That and if you ever wanna like, drink or something, I want to make sure you do it safely. Your dad had a point. If you're gonna do it, you have to make sure you won't get hurt. I care about you, Dip."

They left the music store about a half hour later and worked their way up the street with their purchases.

Eli pointed her nose in the air and walked on the balls of her feet when they entered a department store, acting deliberately snooty and giving everyone who looked at her a glare that said she was better than them.

Petruccio tried not to snort when he bit back his laughter.

Bed clothes was an adventure, mostly because Petruccio felt somehow more mature, older and more sophisticated picking out sheets that would go in his girlfriend's bedroom.

"I like the black ones," Eli said unzipping the package to feel the fabric. _"Gyuh,_ satin… BLEH!"

"My parents have satin sheets…"

"So does my brother." she shivered. "It's disgusting."

"You don't like them?"

"I'm in charge of the laundry, I have to wash Shaun's… And there is a reason I call him Sir Wanks-a-lot."

"EW!" He shoved the package back on the shelf and turned to the cotton sheets.

"I like this gray color." She held it out. "Aw, it matches your eyes!" she clutched it to her chest and chuckled darkly. "You'll come home with me." And into the cart they went.

They ended up picking gray and scarlet sheets and black comforters.

"Gray and black looks good, and so does red and black. Now if Shaun comes over he'll think I've got a roommate and won't get suspicious."

Petruccio picked blue for his own room and a checkerboard patterned sleeping bag with fleece lining. "My roommate is a junior, more than likely I'll end up in the hall a couple nights a week." He rationalized.

"You can always come over to my place if you are." She winked at him over her shoulder. "Hell, maybe I'll come over and we can kick the walls and jump on the bed and give you a reputation!"

He barked a laugh.

Petruccio called Ezio at seven thirty, surprised when he heard chatter in the background that was not his own family. "Ezio, where are you?"

"I'm having dinner with Altair, Shaun, and Desmond." He excused himself quietly from the table and a few seconds later it was quieter. "Are you done shopping?"

"Yeah, we got everything we needed."

"Have you had dinner?"

"Not yet, we've got like, a trunk load of stuff."

Eli pressed her face close to his, her lips brushing his cheek. "Ezio, can he and I go back to my apartment? I'll make him dinner. You and Shaun can come pick him up when you're finished. It's not far from there to your house."

And Ezio said the last thing Petruccio expected him to; "Sure, that sounds like a really good idea."

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Eli's apartment was a small place about as far from the lake as you could get and still be in the city. There was one bedroom and what looked to be a storage closet. That little room was dominated by Shaun's bed and a series of computer monitors attached by brackets to the wall.

"He booby traps his room, don't go in there." She stopped in the small sitting room and pulled Snowman out of his cage, depositing him in an empty flowerpot beside the door and led Petruccio back to her bedroom.

It was decorated much like Petruccio's own, but the bed was all purple and orange and there wasn't that slightly cluttered appearance with piles of clothes in the floor. No, Eli's room was very clean. And the second she dropped her bags on the carpet she made a motor like noise between her lips… And stripped off her shirt.

Petruccio's eyes widened, then he winced and found himself staring in shock…

Eli's back was scarred, and the almost swirling pattern to the texture flowed over her left shoulder down her arm to her elbow, and disappeared beneath the cup of her bra. She froze, half a step after, still clutching the shirt, and turned slowly. "Er…" She swallowed, and seemed to pull composure out of the air itself, straightening and dropping the shirt. "I… I pulled a boiling kettle off the stove onto myself when I was three… It doesn't hurt." She tugged a t-shirt out of her tiny closet and pulled it quickly on, pointedly avoiding his eyes. "It was ages ago, I don't usually think about it." She scuffed a hand through her hair. "Didn't mean to gross you out."

He swallowed. "I'm not grossed out."

She scoffed. "I saw your face. It's alright though." She dropped her skirt and kicked it across the room, rolling down the legs of a pair of shorts she'd had on under it. She sat heavily on the floor, and called out for Snowman.

Petruccio turned and watched him gallop up, wiggling between bags to get to her. He followed and dropped to his knees in front of her, catching her hand and pressing it to the upper right portion of his chest.

She flinched at first… Until she realized she felt something like a bottle cap under his skin. Her eyebrows drew down.

"It's a mainline. Kind of like an IV that goes right to my heart…"

"For what?"

"I had leukemia… I had chemo, and I've been in remission since I was fourteen. If I can stay in remission for five years I'll be considered cured."

She didn't say anything at first, her fingers gently prodding the spot in a fascinated way. "I knew you'd been sick as a kid… But—"

Snowman crawled onto her shoulder and caught her earring in his teeth, pulling at it.

"Ow, nasty bugger!" She shooed him away and turned back to Petruccio with an almost timid expression on her face. "So… You're really not grossed out?"

"Not grossed out… It's kinda' cool looking."

"Its numb, really weird cause Snowman likes to crawl on my back sometimes… I almost rolled over on the poor sod a couple times because he curled up there and went to sleep while I was doing my homework." She hiked her shirt up and exposed her back; "Feel it though, feels really weird! Excellent texture!"

Yeah, she was definitely the craziest person he'd ever met.

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Shaun came home at eight thirty. He was not, by any means happy that the Auditore brat was there. Even less so when he knocked his sister's door open and found them laying on the bed together SHIRTLESS… TOUCHING.

"What's that one from?" She had her fingers on a slanted scar on the left side of his chest, just above his heart.

"A Hickman… It's a type of mainline, got two little dangly ports on it. I had to keep it hooked to the front of my shirt with a piece of Velcro so I didn't roll over on—"

Eli let out a squawk like a startled stork and snatched up her ferret, holding his fat little furry body to her cleavage. Petruccio scrambled and fell off the bed in a heap on top of their bags.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!" Shaun bellowed.

Petruccio's mouth was flapping, trying to explain, but Eli beat him to it.

"Comparing scars you idiot!" She dropped Snowman to the bed and yanked a shirt on over her head, too bad it wasn't hers, but she didn't seem to notice. She leaned over the bed and helped Petruccio up.

"I've got eyes—"

"Then use them! If we'd been raving hormonal teenagers, just salivating to have sex, do you really think we would have taken the time to take our shirts off, or would we have just gotten to the business end of things?"

Shaun's face turned purple… And that's when Eli noticed his eye was swollen and black.

"What happened to you?"

He bristled; "None of your business!" Then stomped out to his own room and slammed the door.

Ezio was standing at the end of the hall looking amused. He flapped a hand at them; "You don't have to say anything else to convince me."

Petruccio was looking around frantically for his shirt, realized Eli was wearing it and propped a hand on his hip, motioning with the other. "Can I—uh—"

She hesitated, blinking down at it… "No, I think I'll keep it." Then shoved her arm into a shopping bag and pulled out one of the shirts she'd bought at the record store and handed it to him. "There, even trade this time…"

He stared at her for a few seconds, then pulled it on, his head popping out blushing bright as strawberries. They separated their belongings quickly and Eli pecked him twice on the lips.

"Good night, you tiny little native you."

He grinned, his lids drooping just slightly, looking at her through his lashes. _"Ciao, Bella."_

He looked kind of awkwardly cute running down the hall carrying his bags, dodging Ezio and out the door before he could really breathe.

Eli waved at Ezio as they left, then collapsed on her bed grinning stupidly, before tugging the collar of that shirt up over her nose and flopping back on the sheets with her eyes closed tightly.

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	37. Chapter 37

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_(To **siberian 74**, my muse is my former roommate Jo. Jo is the embodiment of evil sometimes. *hugs* 10 POINTS TO **Phiphi** for the Title and Artist. To **Xazz** Thank you! I was so terrified nobody would like Eli! *HUGS* to **Ohellsyea** ... *timid evil face* Send me a note and we'll talk about poor Des...)_

_(Also, muse is bowing and making flourishing hand gestures. Only four chapters this week, sorry if they're a little jumbled, my computer was freaking out and screwing with the text. If there are any problems let me know!... Big favor, guys... I got a PM from an ANON saying some of the chapters were coming up blank. Would you mind just blinking through and letting me know if any of them are messed up? They look fine to me, but that might be because I wrote it.)_

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**Chapter 37; ****Normal**

A week passed by without incident. June gave way to July, and the forth rolled around.

Ezio and his family spent the day at the beach. Claudia was finally 'swimsuit ready', packed and prepared to leave on the eighth with her friends for the Bahamas. She claimed she had to tan before she went, and there was no way she was going to lie in a tanning bed, she was a natural woman thank you!

Giovanni begrudgingly came to the beach with them, sitting quietly in his trunks and a white shirt under Maria's big umbrella with his hands on his stomach.

It was sunny, and there were a few fat fluffy, fair weather clouds floating around overhead, dappling the water's surface.

Federico arrived with Katie and the baby. The tiny little boy spent most of the day laying on his namesake's chest sleeping, or in either his mother's, Maria's or Federico's arms sucking placidly on his pacifier, or hidden away under a towel while Katie fed him.

He was a very calm baby, gentle, and could be coaxed into giving dazzling little smiles or gazing upward curiously at your face with wide aquamarine eyes.

Maria cooed and fussed over him sitting beside the younger woman on a beach blanket, patiently sketching their likenesses in her journal. Then turning her eyes and finding an interesting angle in her husband's position, lying half curled on his beach lounge with his sunglasses dipping low on his nose, hands folded across his stomach like cat's paws.

He'd been very quiet for the past week, not to mention his sleep had become fitful at best. She was glad to see he was resting here in the sun.

She wasn't surprised though when Eli and her brother 'coincidentally' showed up, Eli prancing up in trunks and a t-shirt with a silk-screen of large breasts, and a tiny waist in a bright red string bikini, Shaun was dressed more conservatively in red shorts with white piping and a white shirt, or that the tall Brit had Desmond in tow, looking somehow like an adolescent bloodhound, all thin long limbs and baggy black trunks. He had a package of Red Vines licorice in his hand and a piece was poking between his teeth like a cigar. He also greeted her with a slight bow and a; _'Chaaahmed'_ spoken in a somehow nasally falsetto.

She had a feeling he'd been watching old detective films again.

Maria watched the beach slowly fill with other people, the water's edge becoming dotted with frolicking children and young people. A few dogs ran past a couple times chasing sticks or tennis balls. She had expected a peaceful day sunbathing, splashing in the surf with her husband, watching all four of their children together for their first holiday as a whole family in a decade. She'd made a list in her journal of the things she wanted to do.

Then suddenly Federico darted past in a maroon t-shirt and forest green trunks laughing hysterically holding a tiny, flapping sea-foam green sundress over his head like a flag.

Claudia was running full tilt after him in her bikini grabbing at it; "GIVE IT BACK! YOU SON OF A BITCH! I DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE MY BROTHER, I WILL KICK YOUR ASS IF YOU DON'T GIVE IT BACK!"

Half a second later Desmond and Ezio started running and stumbling in circles around them shoving one another good naturedly in attempt to splash the other with cups of ice water. Shaun growled and shrieked at them not to get near him and his computer or he would murder them both.

Petruccio and Eli tossed a football back and forth for a while, then were distracted by something and walked off with a giant towel held between them like a parachute.

Maria watched them all and glanced over where Katie was napping beside the baby under a tent of discarded shirts and towels stretched between two lawn chairs. Then to her husband, who had curled slightly onto his side with his head pillowed on his arm.

It was a good feeling, even though it wasn't exactly what she'd wanted. Seeing her family all together was worth it.

The day passed without incident. Federico and Ezio even tried to teach Desmond to swim, but all he managed to do was awkwardly doggy paddle, splashing frantically with his chin in the air, his nostrils flared and his eyes squeezed closed.

Claudia flirted shamelessly with young men who walked by eyeing where she was laid out on her blanket in nothing but that tiny white bikini, her hair piled on top of her head in a modish, disheveled knot.

Giovanni woke up long enough to glare threateningly at a group of young men who stood too long staring at Claudia's backside, and ask in a growl if they were lost.

Maria was even surprisingly pleased when, while she'd gotten up to walk around and a man walked up and asked if she would like some company, Giovanni had launched himself from his seat and darted to her side.

It wasn't often that her husband had the opportunity to 'defend' her, even if it was from something like another man's harmless flirting, they were together too often to let other men thing she was available. Giovanni had a bit of an ego and she didn't get to see him so full of it every day. It was nice. Flattering, and she held his hand for the rest of the evening. Catching his eye and rubbing the backs of his knuckles slowly.

It was a good day, all in all.

That evening they piled into their cars and migrated toward the marina to sail out onto the lake in order to watch the fireworks from a more open vantage point.

Mario's boat was the perfect place for a cookout as well, and he was secretly a fantastic cook.

Mario himself, was a newly made bachelor. He'd owned a nice house in the suburbs with his wife, a twenty-something woman with more cleavage than brain cells, but she had recently decided she was tired of being tied to 'a skeevy old fat man with an icky eye' and left him for a twenty-something male model who lived in a commune and spent ten months out of the year in Los Angeles living off what ever his face could be plastered on or painted on his ass.

Since his divorce Mario had sold his house, and bought a forty-foot yacht that stayed mostly at the dock and only once a month went out any farther than half a mile onto Lake Michigan. He thanked God every day that he'd listened to Claudia and insisted on a Prenuptial Agreement. Otherwise, he'd be crashing in his little brother's furnished basement like he had after his first divorce.

He wasn't used to having company, so most of the time he wandered about the deck wearing only some torn off jeans, loafers he'd had for years, and one in a collection of Hawaiian shirts with pineapples and hula girls on them. He didn't try to impress anybody, two ex-wives and innumerable ex-girlfriends had turned him off the dating scene for a while. And the shirts weren't to say he liked Hawaiian shirts, he just happened to like hula girls… a lot. He had four miniature plastic ones stuck to the porthole in his room. There was something just fundamentally sexy about a woman who could do something like that with her hips.

Mario had been in his most polite 'fuck off' mood all that morning, lounging on the deck dressed in his most comfortable clothes, with a nice bottle of red wine and a romance novel titled _'Love me Tender Sweet Stranger'_ reading, drinking and generally trying to be the biggest slob he could be because today was his day to relax.

He was, and every woman he'd ever been with would attest to this, a hopeless romantic. He believed wholeheartedly that chivalry was not dead, and would soon make a resurgence in popular culture, and that every man should follow a code of honor and discipline. That true happiness was found through simplicity and hard work. He was also somewhat jealous when other men would look at his 'lady'. And even though all the woman he'd been unfortunate enough to find himself enamored with all enjoyed being treated like queens, they just didn't so much enjoy the whole 'simplicity and hard work' aspect of his beliefs, they rather liked money, and things money could change into, you see.

He was surprised, at about six that evening when Giovanni showed up with his family. Happy greetings were exchanged, and Mario was introduced to his great-nephew. He held the squirming little boy in his arms and sat under the shade of the upper deck just watching in delight as he devoured the contents of a bottle, then spat-up and had to be changed.

Mario didn't particularly like the spit-up, but it was the nature of infants, so he didn't complain. Just watched Federico tend to the child and whispered to his brother; "At least he doesn't try to vomit every few seconds like you did."

"I have a strong stomach, but there is something just off putting about diapers." Giovanni shivered.

Katie, the baby and Federico stayed on the boat for an hour, but said their goodbyes before sunset, having promised Katie's parents, and the Letroys that they would have dinner with them.

Mario thumped his chest; "Next year I'll buy a bigger boat and everyone can come!"

"No, you won't!" Claudia scolded him and started rattling off numbers and percentages. "You bought this one just seven months ago!"

"So?"

"I swear, you would bankrupt yourself in three days if it weren't for me!"

"I'm plenty capable of taking care of my own finances—"

"You tried to buy six Ferraris for your girlfriends three years ago!"

"They were beautiful women—"

"I'm not hearing this! Papa, talk some sense into him!"

"I can't really say anything without being hypocritical… I wrecked two for your mother."

"Oh, good lord…"

The evening wore on much in this fashion. Laughing and chatting back and forth while the boat made its lazy way deeper into the lake. There were a few other boats out there, bells and air horns were sounded in greeting, and one boat, decked out in hundreds of strands of Christmas lights flashed its hello and shot a few Roman Candles into the air.

The sun sank slowly below the horizon and the fire works display began.

A few boats shot off a couple, annoying Mario who said a few years before, when he'd only had a small sail boat, that some _idiota_ had fired off some and sat their own boat on fire.

Shaun smoked almost a whole pack of cigarettes, eyes locked on his sister where she and Petruccio were sitting on the starboard side of the boat in 'privacy'.

Desmond wasn't pleased when Shaun blabbed to the Auditores that Altair had forbidden him to drink until his birthday and tried to argue that it was less than sixteen days away and what did sixteen days really matter.

The Brit threatened to throw him off the boat if he didn't stop whining, then glared at Ezio when the younger man chuckled under his breath.

Shaun got very drunk after that.

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Altair spent the first part of July forth alone.

Malik, Hadiya and the kids had gone to visit Malik's father, and after they'd picked the older man up, had gone to Hadiya's parents where they planned to stay the night.

Malik had invited Altair to go along, more like told him to stop with the kicked puppy faces under that damned hood, shut up and get in the car, but they both knew he couldn't. Malik's father had not been as forgiving as Malik had been.

Altair and Malik had an awkward staring match on the sidewalk before the shorter man had let out a sigh and climbed into the passenger seat beside his wife.

So, the PI spent the morning alone, lounging lazily in bed watching movies. He ordered Thai food and scuffed around in his socks building up static on the carpet to make his hair stand on end, reorganized his CDs and records and picked out a few he thought Ezio might like. Changed the sheets on his bed, and actually pulled Malik's dust-buster off its wall mount and crawled under his bed, sucking up all the dust bunnies and was pleased when he found two bucks in quarters behind his book shelves.

He spent almost a whole hour just staring at the photos he kept hidden in _Hearts in Atlantis_, then put them away again and devised a list of places to hide the key to his file cabinet that Malik wouldn't be able to access, or would never look.

He came up with three places. Swallowing it, keeping it on a little chain in his underwear, or getting one of those magnetic key safes and sticking it to the ceiling fan in his office. Yeah, he'd have to use a broom, or a ladder to access it himself, but Malik was too short and too afraid of falling off ladders to get it.

He decided duct taping it to the air conditioner outside the widow was the best and safest bet for the time being, and burned the list in the bathroom sink, then washed the ash down the drain so Malik would never be able to find it.

He swept his office, watered the plants, then went to the basement and emptied the mouse traps. He did his laundry and made nice messy piles of it in his drawers and in his closet, then went to the roof and stole one of Malik's tomatoes to eat with some salt on wheat toast.

And by two, he had nothing else to do, and he was hungry. Not only that, but the emptiness of the building was starting to get to him. He was used to the thud of little feet, talking, that warmth of people in there with him even if he didn't see them all the time. Everything felt empty.

He tried to work, but found himself distracted, wondering what Ezio was doing. Having fun with his family. Wondering what Malik, Hadiya and the kids were up to. Probably eating and talking and having water balloon fights, or doing things like that.

He expected Walker or Chris to call, but neither of them did, so he turned in his chair, cranked the massager up all the way and spaced out staring at his painting—

Then he wondered what Leo was doing… Would the FBI have even let him do anything? Would they have let him go to the party Altair imagined Ezio's family having?

After fifteen minutes the curiosity had gotten the better of him and he picked up his phone, pulling a few sticky, decaying bits of rubber away from the buttons and dialed the number he'd been given. He talked quickly with the Deputy Marshall there to guard the blonde, and after a little persuading got the man to agree.

Forty-five minutes and a quick shower later Altair was standing on the street corner watching that nondescript black sedan roll slowly up the street.

The deputy was a young man in his early twenties with cinnamon colored hair. He was dressed casually, and chuckled under his breath as he leaned over and opened the passenger side door for Altair.

He climbed in and away they went.

Leo lunged across the seat and wrapped thin arms around Altair's neck. "You have no idea how _boring_ it was today! Park and I played poker for Goldfish Crackers and ended up eating them all before the third hand!" He wiggled. "Where are we going?"

"I'm in the mood for egg rolls, what about you two?"

"Chinese sounds good to me." The deputy said, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the steering wheel.

"I've never had Chinese food before!" Leo squirmed in his seat excitedly.

"You've been here two months and haven't had Chinese food yet?" Altair gaped at him.

"No, they've been supplying health foods. Lots of bran wafers, rice cakes, and vegetables. The first two weeks I was here I swear to you, I slept on the toilet!"

Park laughed.

"You are an evil little man!" Leo scowled comically at the back of his head. "I lost ten pounds because of that stuff, and have gained twice that much since! My clothes don't fit any longer!"

"That's because you're healthier." He turned to Altair and jerked his thumb over his shoulder; "You should see him, they brought in one of those exercise trampolines and he spends hours on that thing or climbing on the equipment in the gym. He's nothin' but muscle now!"

Altair had a sneaking suspicion, just from the look in his eyes, that this young man liked Leo… And it was possible from how the blonde rolled his eyes and made faces at the back of his head that the artist was unknowingly beginning to reciprocate.

He didn't want to say anything, just incase he was wrong, because Park also seemed like the kind of person who might just be openly flirtatious and Leo was an excellent actor.

Dinner was a long affair. Leo sampled just about everything, pushing the meat to one side of his plate when he found a piece. He confessed with a blush that he didn't like to eat anything that had had a mother. Park asked if that included plants, since they came from seeds grown by other plants, and Leo glared dangerously at him. "Would you rather I survive on Jello for the rest of my life? Besides a plant can be cut and kept fresh in a glass of water. If you cut off a piece of an animal and stick it in water all you get is a big mess."

He seemed to like the broccoli he picked from the stir-fry with fried rice. And he also apparently enjoyed cooing at the tiny delicate pastries lined up on the buffet.

The conversation rambled; When did the fireworks start? Where would be the best place to see them? How have things been since they'd seen one another last?

Leo twirled his fork in the air and explained with a dreamy look in his eye how fantastic the city was. That he'd been allowed to go to an art gallery and to museums. "The zoo was wonderful as well! I could sit for hours just sketching the animals. And the Gothic Architecture!" He gripped his chest. "Could you imagine being allowed to paint in a place like that!"

When Altair asked Park told them about his hobbies, he played drums for a local band, enjoyed swimming and fishing. He and Leo's lion of a cat didn't get along and she liked to mess on his shoes. The little wiener dog had become his best friend and since it had started loosing weight liked to jump onto the couch and sprawl itself alongside Park's thigh, whining to have his belly rubbed.

Leo grumbled that the deputy was spoiling his vicious attack hound, Altair laughed.

Then those blue eyes turned to him and Altair mumbled through abbreviated versions of the recent happenings in his life. And that if Leo saw Ezio before he did to tell him that Altair had a few CDs he might like.

Leo then went into how he loved music and wanted to compose a great and beautiful funeral dirge because it would be gloomy and fantastic. He looked very excited about it.

Somehow or another, the conversation got turned into a strange game of dare. The young Deputy and Altair dared Leo to get up and sing Karaoke, which he surprisingly did, so Park was made to eat six pieces of sashimi Leo sprinkled liberally with sugar and teriyaki sauce and Altair had been called upon by Leo to eat the wasabi he had filled a bowl with on his way back from the Karaoke stage because he'd thought it was pistachio pudding, his eyes were still watering.

Altair thought it was slightly juvenile but found himself playing along and filled his mouth with a heaping spoonful of the green spice, not believing the reaction Leo had given to it was genuine.

Altair liked spicy food, loved jalapeño peppers stuffed with cheese, and spicy chicken wings. Had even once chomped into a chili pepper that was so dark red it was almost black, that Malik had brought back from the store just to watch him choke on.

It was spicy, yes, and the longer it sat in his mouth the worse the burn in his sinuses got.

"You shouldn't have eaten a whole spoonful!" Park said, laughing. "I'll get ya' some ice cream to cool it down."

It wasn't until an hour later, after he'd swallowed it, that he realized, eating so much of the substance wasn't a good idea. He complained that his whole esophagus was burning, and he could still smell it when he breathed.

Leo was giggling, holding his sides, and Park had his hands shoved deeply into his pockets grinning and shaking his head.

They took a cab to the beach and the deputy let Leo frolic in the water while the sun went down, completely soaking himself then wading out looking like a drowned Persian cat. He rolled the legs of his khaki's up and found a stick, dragging it through the sand writing in big tall letters what only god would be able to read most likely, while Park and Altair found a good vantage point for the fireworks.

Leo was surprised when he came across buried treasure. A pair of sunglasses he rinsed in the waves and stuck on his face, a wallet some punk had already emptied of credit cards and cash, Park took it and dialed the owners phone number to warn him.

But, Leo's greatest find it seemed, was jewelry. He discovered three expensive gold watches, two of them ladies watches, at least half a dozen rings, and four bracelets, all concealed beneath the sand.

"Yeah, people lose stuff like that all the time… I can put an ad in the paper for you if you want, maybe we can find who it belongs to." Altair was inspecting one of the watches with a surprised look on his face.

Leo just seemed to enjoy finding the stuff. But once it had gotten too dark to see he trotted over and collapsed on a bench beside Altair, dusting his feet off before he put his socks and shoes back on then brandishing his thin arms triumphantly, all the watches and bracelets and bangles and rings he'd found covering him. "I feel like a king! My God what would I do with so much money to waste on things to lose in the sand!"

Then the fireworks started. And Altair had never seen a grown man dance around like that before.

"Jeez, calm down. It's only fireworks!"

Leo didn't hear a word of it.

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Altair didn't sleep that night. Every little noise made his whole body tense up and he would reach for his knife, peering out his door afraid some maniac had crept into the building and was going to kill him.

By the time Malik and Hadiya made it back the next afternoon, the kids staying a week with her parents, Altair was half crazed.

Malik, surprisingly, was almost civil and handed over a Tupperware container filled with food without snarling. "Hadiya's younger sister is pregnant. She and her husband are overjoyed—"

"And they want to name it after Malik—" Hadiya wrapped her arms around his chest and pinched his cheek; "—As a thank you for introducing them… He turned bright red and strutted around like a rooster all day."

Altair snorted into his food. 'Introducing' was a stretch by anyone's standards. Neema had been crying quite a lot at their wedding and her fussing had made Hadyia start to cry, so Malik had ground his teeth, wanting desperately escape while trying to appear polite, and shoved Grant at her.

"How was your day? Did you get out or just lay in bed." Malik dropped onto the couch and turned on the TV flipping through the channels until something caught his eye.

Altair thought it was a baseball game. "I went out. Had dinner, then went to the beach to watch the fireworks."

That answer seemed to surprise Malik because he gave his head a little shake; "Really? Who'd you go with? Desmond?"

He shook his head; "Desmond wasn't answering his phone, so I called around and the Marshall that was guarding Leo let him come… The kid was going nuts over the fireworks." He sucked some barbecue sauce off his thumb and reached into the container for more chicken. "You didn't happen to get the mail, on your way up did you?"

"No, it slipped my mind." He seemed more interested in the TV.

Altair rolled his eyes and stood, scuffing down the spiral staircase and down the hall.

The mailbox was practically overflowing and Altair had to stuff letters and news papers under both arms to get it all up the stairs.

The majority of the mail seemed to be advertisements, a chain letter, a few thick manila envelopes containing manuscripts Malik and Hadiya would read over and consider for publication, news papers, a few new weapons magazines with swords and shields on the covers… Another discreet shipping box, this one with Altair's name on it. He hid it beside him on the couch before Malik saw it… And there was a letter, Desmond's test results.

Altair slid his knife from his sleeve and cut the envelope open, scanning the details and humming, nudging Malik in the ribs with his elbow as he hid his blade again.

Malik glanced over; "What?"

"Desmond's results."

"Oh? How'd he do?"

"Better than I did." He handed the papers over and let Malik scan them.

"Not bad. Are you going to sign off on him?"

"Not yet… I think I'll let him sweat until his birthday, give it to him as a present."

"You're evil."

"Call it payback for all the shit he's put me through since I let Shaun come in." He took the papers back and folded them into the envelope; "Or do you think I should just leave them on his desk tomorrow morning?"

"I'd make him wait… Sounds more fun."

He grunted noncommittally and after a moment sighed, shoved Malik's mail toward him, gathered his own, and stood; "Well, this means I've got work to do."

Malik didn't answer, just leaned his elbow onto the arm of the couch and propped his chin in his hand, eyes locked on the TV.

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	38. Chapter 38

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_(Something you've been waiting thirty eight chapters for...) _

_*YAOI WARNING!*_

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**Chapter 38; Progress**

Ezio noticed an upward trend toward the fifteenth of July. He'd started keeping a journal when he'd spoken to Marjory the month before, just a notebook he pulled from his bag every so often and wrote in. It had started out with his fears. The worry that the urges he had begun to feel were false. Worry the stiffness that came regularly to his body, and the ever more frequent mornings with a sticky uncomfortable mess in his underwear when he wasn't able to wake himself soon enough to freeze it away in a cold shower, were just signs he really did crave what had been done to him.

Those fears had become almost overwhelming.

Did they make him disgusting? Evil? Like those men who had forced themselves upon him? Did his body become so wholly convinced of the lies he'd told it during those instances, that it actually wanted to be violated?

He tried to rationalize it, tried to explain it away, but like Marjory had said; emotions were sometimes impossible to understand while you were experiencing them, you just had to hope for the best.

It made him irrationally angry and on Monday and Thursday afternoons when he rode the bus or the train to meet with Shaun and three of Malik's children on the print shop's roof, he put his all into it.

He found he quite liked learning Jujitsu. He could imagine himself pummeling each and every person who'd ever hurt him. He found it was a bigger stress relief than trying to overcome his unease and touch himself. Not that he was ruling that out as of yet.

Shaun explained each motion slowly, dressed in loose clothing, bare footed on the grass Malik had planted. Everything was just redirection. Using the force of motion.

Tai chi came first, Shaun explained, balancing the mind and body with meditation, releasing all the bad, all the fear and embracing the energies of the world around you.

Ezio found himself sitting there with his eyes closed and his shoulders loose. Shaun explained that there really was no regulation pose for such things, and it was whatever made you feel the most relaxed.

He said to imagine their bodies as two different halves. The left side took in, and the right released. While breath was within them it was gathering all the negative energy and as they exhaled it was removed, taken in by the plants and animals and the world around them and released again as good energy.

After their first three lessons Hadiya joined them, and soon after that Shaun found himself with a lucrative little business as two of Hadiya's friends from work came as well, Malik even showed up once or twice, rolling his eyes and pretending not to be enjoying himself.

Shaun acted as if he didn't notice all the other people and focused more on speaking and instructing as if there were only one there on the rooftop with him.

Everything was fluid, following the natural flow, using momentum and lines of motion to their advantages.

Ezio felt more calm than ever before and didn't even flinch when Shaun gripped his elbow gently and helped him move through slow wrestling and fighting poses.

"Doing it slowly like this at first ensures you memorize it, that your body knows. That way, should you ever have to actually use it to defend yourself, you don't have to think. It just happens naturally."

It was surprising how physically exhausting moving so slowly could be, and often after lessons, when Hadiya prepared lunch down stairs, Ezio would be almost ravenous, and then want to sleep for hours.

He didn't seem to notice when the stiffness of his body became less frequent and that he rarely woke up with a mess in his shorts. All he knew was his stress was becoming less and less every day, and the pressure was easing.

In less than a month his body had changed, where before he'd been skinny and underdeveloped, now he had actual muscle tone. As if overnight his stomach, chest arms and legs had undergone a metamorphosis. He found himself standing in front of the mirror that had been his enemy just three months ago, with his shirt hiked up staring at the evenly spaced little ridges down his stomach.

It was nothing substantial, yet, but if he ran his hand across it he could feel the changes.

He'd discovered his t-shirts were a little tighter across his chest as well… And when he walked from the train station to the print shop, women… _looked_ at him. He wasn't entirely too pleased about that, but it wasn't anything he found threatening, so he ignored it or just smiled politely.

What he was pleased about though, was that at the lesson on Thursday it had been ungodly hot that morning, so he'd pulled on a sleeveless white shirt and his track pants… Halfway through, while Shaun had been helping Kalila wind her hair into two buns so she didn't keep whacking her little brother with her braids whenever she turned quickly, Ezio had felt a strange itching on the side of his head and turned his eyes toward it—

Altair had been standing there, mostly concealed in the doorway with his arms crossed, a somehow vacant look on his face… Much like the look those women had given him when he passed by.

It sent a tingle up his spine.

When he looked again, Altair was gone. But there was no convincing himself he'd imagined it, no pretending it had been misunderstood… Altair had been LOOKING at him.

And the passages in his journal had slowly begun to change as well.

It started with one paragraph, a short stunted thing;

_'I've been listening to a lot of music lately. Not because I feel the need to distract myself, but because I like the CDs Altair gave me. He was right about Great Gig in the Sky. Tears my heart out too.'_

And then, slowly, everything had evolved, those little paragraphs had become whole pages. Introspective, telling how he felt about certain things that had happened, things he enjoyed doing. How he had begun to wake up earlier in the mornings just to sit on the roof balcony of his home with his roses and plants and let himself relax into the rhythm of life. He described the conversations they shared about music or books, or the little glances Altair sent his way every Tuesday when he showed up at the PI's office. Not because he had any more photos to look at, but because he'd begun just showing up, helping out if he could, answering the phone when Altair, Desmond and Shaun were on foot, or reading through procedure pamphlets Altair gave him, believing since the younger man spent so much time there he might be interested in learning detective work as well.

Ezio didn't let on, just devoured it all as if he were starving for information, which on some level he was… just not about what Altair thought.

Most of the pages in his journal were this. Half of them talking about his family, the other half about Altair.

It was startling how much the PI's name came up. Or how many times when the older man looked at him, heat began to build in Ezio's stomach and he often blushed and glanced away.

"I really do have a crush on him." He groaned one night, sitting at his desk writing.

The next morning when Marjory asked him to read aloud what he'd written he blushed and glanced to the side; "Do I have to? It's embarrassing."

"Why are you embarrassed?"

He sighed, pulling at his shoe laces; "It's all about Altair… for the last two weeks that's all I've written about."

"And this is embarrassing?"

"I really do have a crush on him… It's so weird. I'm terrified of anyone finding it."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want my father doing what Claudia said he did to Federico and Petruccio. I'd be humiliated!"

"What did he do to your brothers?"

He whispered it, just loud enough that she could hear.

"And you're worried he'll give you prophylactics and blush at you?"

"I'm worried about what he'll think of me."

She nodded; "What are you afraid he would think?"

"That I'm making a mistake. That I'm disgusting…" He sighed deeply remembering everything his father had said. That no matter what he did he would still be loved. No matter if he was gay or straight he would have the full support of his family through it all. "I know it's silly. It's stupid really, he said he would love me no matter what I did." And he knew, with concrete surety, that his father and family meant that. "I just—I don't know."

"Then what are you afraid of?"

He thought a minute, then with a sigh bent over his knees again. "I'm afraid of what he'd think of Altair."

"Why?"

"Because he's my father and what he thinks matters to me. And I don't want him thinking Altair is taking advantage of me."

Marjory nodded and leaned back in her chair; "Alright, let's say that your father found out and he wasn't happy with Altair. What then? Would what your father thinks change how you feel?"

"No. I like Altair and what my father thinks of him isn't going to change that."

She nodded and tapped her pen to her lips a few times; "Why do you like Altair?"

He blinked, swallowed, and spoke; "I don't know."

"Well, try to explain it to me… How about we role play, yes? Pretend I'm your father, how would you describe your feelings for him to your father?"

Ezio blushed and glanced to the side; "W-well… I-I just like him." After a moment he sighed and pulled his feet onto the couch with him, legs crossed, fingers twiddling in his lap. "He's kind. He has a wicked sense of humor. He's not too macho to admit he's afraid, or that he's not perfect. He trusts me. He's never tried to convince me to do something I'm not comfortable with. In fact it's a little annoying how often he asks if I'm 'OK'… The word loses all meaning… But he makes me smile and even though he's bigger than me, when I'm around him I'm not worried he'll hurt me I—I feel warm inside. I feel safe."

"Does anything about him frighten you?"

"Sometimes, but I know it's because of what happened to me, not because I'm actually afraid of him… It's more that it's what I expect."

"What do you expect?"

He twisted his face up, thinking, and gave himself a little shake; "Sometimes, it doesn't even matter who… I just look at a guy and I analyze him. I think about how strong his hands are, how bad bruises would be or if something would break if he hit me. I—I also find myself wondering how _big_ he is and if he wanted me, if it would hurt badly… How he would handle things, or if he'd just—just do it and not care if he made me bleed or not."

"You've wondered this about Altair?"

He hesitated, then nodded; "It's instinct… I wondered the same thing about my father when I first came back. How sick is that! It doesn't happen often anymore… Just every once and a while I find myself thinking. I have to admit though, it's easier to deal with now than it was."

"Is there a certain behavior that makes you think this?"

"No. It just happens some times out of the blue."

She scribbled for a few minutes, as if waiting for him to speak.

"Would you mind, Ezio, if I read your journal?"

He hesitated at first, wary, but reminded himself he'd told this woman in detail about a few of his attacks, she knew very embarrassing facts about him, and if she was going to think he was a bad person she probably already did, nothing in the book would change her mind. "You can read it if you want… I just warn you, my handwriting is terrible."

And he handed it over.

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Ezio saw Leo on the eighteenth for lunch after Shaun said it was too hot to keep practicing on the roof without someone having a heat stroke.

He asked again if the blonde wanted to come to a jujitsu lesson, but he declined. Saying he didn't like violence, and Leo had become a very hardheaded individual of late. It seemed that in the past month he had abandoned being impressionable, and decided that once his mind was set it would take an act of god or kittens to convince him otherwise.

Ezio knew it was the artist's little rebellion. Taking back control of his life, so he didn't say anything. It was good seeing Leo standing up for himself, even if it was just about taking a self defense class, or that he'd wanted blue jello, not green, thank you very much.

After their lunch Leo lamented that he had to go to work, he was doing a portrait of a woman's son. "He's an evil little foul mouthed bastard! Hell Spawn! I swear to you!" He curled his hands into claws; "And he won't sit still! He's always making a face or falling asleep and ruining the pose!"

"Why don't you just take a picture of him and use that. You won't have to put up with him—"

"I would never sink to such a level!" He crossed his arms high on his chest; "I'd rather poison the little shit and prop his unconscious ass in the corner."

Ezio chuckled and tried not to look at how furiously the blonde's brows were crooked upward. Like horns.

"Well, I really must go… don't break your neck learning all that ninja stuff."

"It's not ninja—Leo…" he rolled his eyes and after an all too brief hug they parted.

As the car was pulling away the older man stuck his head out the window and shouted to be heard above the traffic; "KEEP AN EYE ON THE NEWS PAPER! I'VE BEEN INVITED TO DO A SHOW AT A GALLERY DOWN TOWN!"

Ezio wanted to shout his congratulations but knew he wouldn't be heard above the traffic so he just waved over his head. As he was leaving, preparing to hail a cab, he felt a peculiar burning on the back of his neck. As if some giant beast had latched onto him and was trying to shake him to death like a dog would do a rat, and instantly his heart was racing, he was hyper aware of everyone and everything around him, and pressure was invading his chest.

Something was wrong.

He swallowed thickly and started down the sidewalk, cab forgotten, hands fisted in his pockets. He hunched his shoulders and began scanning the crowd for unfriendly faces. Feeling emotions flip past at lightning speed. He glanced over his shoulder, and it seemed, the very second his gaze landed on those almost gleefully glittering eyes set into a somehow cheerful, yet serious face, a knife of pain shot through his head.

There was a man… older wearing a business suit with a news paper under one arm, and he seemed to be oozing that violent, possessive want from every pore like slime.

Ezio suddenly felt as if he were the size of an ant, and there was a giant anvil hovering over his head ready to drop on him at any second and squash him to paste. He narrowed his eyes and shook his head at the man and started away quickly… But it seemed the faster he walked, the faster the man walked, the shorter the distance between them became, the more potent the panic grew as it flooded his chest, because that WANT the man exuded was becoming angrier with every breath.

This wasn't instinct, wasn't misunderstanding someone's intent… This man wanted to **hurt** him.

Ezio felt more than saw the doorway to his right, and ducked quickly into it, a bell clanging over his head as he shut it behind himself and leaned heavily against the wall.

This place smelled like chemicals and heat, and when he glanced over he noticed a thin man in a stocking cap staring at him where he was sitting on top of a washing machine with a PSP.

A Laundromat.

"You OK, Guy?" The man called, looking at him worriedly.

Ezio nodded stiffly, and fished in his pocket for his phone with shaking numb hands. He misdialed the first three numbers that tried to force themselves through his fingertips, cursed and sank to sit on his heels by the door, smashing buttons until he finally got a ring.

"Ezio?"

His heart tightened in his throat. That wasn't his father's voice, or his brothers… That was Altair's voice. How did he get Altair's number?

And then he remembered the pamphlets and papers the PI had given him that he'd been mindlessly going through so he had an excuse to be near him. That ten digit number had been there every time, he'd read over it so frequently he'd memorized it.

"Ezio, are you there? What's wrong?"

He cleared his throat, feeling on the verge of collapse; "I… I'm at a Laundromat. C-can you come get me?"

"What happened?"

"I just—Can you please come get me?"

"Yeah, I'll come get you. Where are you? What Laundromat, this is Chicago, there's a million of 'em."

He rattled off the address of the restaurant where he and Leo had met, "I'm a few blocks south of there… I don't r-really know exactly where I am."

"Alright, I'll be there in a few minutes. Just hang tight. Is there an attendant there? Or someone?"

"There's a guy… He seems OK." He swallowed with difficulty; "There was a man following me. He SAW, he knew, Altair. He—he…"

"Don't think about it… There should be an attendant at the back, go ask him if you can like, sit back there if you're uncomfortable." Altair said something in a hushed voice to someone in the room with him, and he could hear the PI moving around. Heard his shoulder thud against the wall as he stumbled putting on his shoes. He took the stairs three at a time it sounded like, and Ezio just listened to it until Altair cursed loudly, there was a thud, screeching tires and the line went suddenly dead.

His stomach lurched.

What had that been… What the hell had just happened!

He felt like he'd swallowed a cannonball.

Had something happened? Why had the line just died like that!

The thin man in the knit cap wandered over; "You alright? Want me to call an ambulance?"

Ezio shook his head and just stared down at his phone in horror.

The man looked around, squinting out the window and leaned his back against the wall to Ezio's left, he gave off a radiating aura it seemed. Encapsulating, protective. "You need to breathe, Man. It's too hot to be trippin' like that."

A million horrible things flashed through Ezio's mind. All of them revolving around Altair being struck by a car and killed while trying to come after him. What if he had been? What if the PI was laying in the gutter some where, broken and bleeding? What if he was dying and it was all Ezio's fault!

The man in the hat stood there beside him until his clothes were finished drying, then he asked while he was folding them if Ezio needed any help, an ambulance or a police officer or something. He shook his head and whispered a thank you on numb lips while he tried for almost the hundred time to call the PI back. Praying that it wasn't something serious, PLEASE don't let it be anything serious—

The door swung open and a man in a white t-shirt stumbled in, hands on his knees gasping and wet with sweat. He stumbled a few feet looking around then turned.

And Ezio's heart leapt into his throat. He practically just lunged into the air like a frog and latched onto Altair, squeezing him around the chest as if he intended to pinch the older man in half or something.

Altair gripped him back, panting into his hair. "Are you OK? You're alright?"

"What happened? I thought you'd been hit by a car! The phone just went dead and you didn't answer when I called you back!" He shivered and rubbed his face in Altair's chest. "There was this man… He was following me. He wanted t-to…" His knees tried to give out and Altair scooped him up, turning and settling him atop a dryer unable to move away because the younger man still had hold of him like a vice.

"I got clipped by a bicycle currier and he knocked my phone out of my hand, by the time I found it again a Volvo had made road kill out of it." He displayed a few livid bruises and bloody looking places along his forearm and elbow.

Ezio didn't even really hear him, just filed that information away and kept rambling, feeling crushed by everything in that moment; "Oh, God, Altair, he scared me to death! He kept following me! I had to get away from him—"

"It's alright. He didn't hurt you did he?"

"No, I came in here, and he stood out there across the street… Is he still there? I could still feel him ou-out there when you came i-in… Where the fuck did he come from! I thought I'd left them all in Morocco." His right hand came from around Altair's neck and flattened across the scar on his lips. "I hate this. Why did this have to happen? Couldn't he have marked me someplace else? Anywhere! Just someplace I could hide instead of there for everyone to see? I can't stand everyone looking at me and KNOWING! I feel disgusting. I wish I could just tear my face off half the time! I wish I could forget it all ever ha—"

He didn't know when he'd started crying, but Altair's hands were firm, turning his head until they looked at one another, and there was such pain and understanding in the PI's gaze, and Ezio became slowly, dimly aware that Altair was standing there pressed tightly against his front and his thighs were framing the older man's hips.

Then it happened.

It wasn't really much of a thing. And Ezio didn't realize what had happened until Altair pulled back with a startled look on his face.

Just a bump of their mouths, innocent, comforting…

And then Ezio's heart was racing. His fingers tightened where he was gripping the PI's shirt, giving just a tiny, microscopic little tug.

Altair seemed to be frozen at first, his face appearing to flicker between horror, amazement and confusion as he warred with himself, but he moved, just a little. Barely noticeable…

Ezio knew what was happening this time, but it seemed so alien and new, one of the hands in his hair loosening, cradling the back of his head.

Before that moment he'd always compared kissing to having an angry eel forced into his mouth. Gross, nauseating and not so great tasting, usually like booze and filth… but surprisingly enough, Altair tasted like coffee and butterscotch candies. And he didn't force anything, didn't come forward with his mouth open and his tongue sticking out like a few men before had… This was just a simple rather vanilla press of lips— and it sent heat rocketing right to Ezio's belly, sinking lower, even as they pulled half a breath apart and stayed there for a long few minutes with their brows leaned together, noses bumping.

He shivered and bowed his head into Altair's shoulder, breathing deeply, listening to the thump of the other man's heart. The sound was strangely hypnotic.

And suddenly he wondered why people called things vanilla like it was something to be hated. When did vanilla become a bad thing? It was sweet, simple, pure…

He closed his eyes tightly and gripped Altair closer to himself.

That's what it was. Pure.

The first real physical kindness he'd ever known.

Maybe, he decided, vanilla wasn't such a bad thing after all.

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	39. Chapter 39

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_(10 Points to whoever can tell me what, or who this chapter is titled after... And I'll give you a hint. It's not the character from the Matrix.)_

_*YAOI WARNING!*_

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**Chapter 39; Morpheus **

Ezio crawled into bed that night exhausted.

Altair had called a cab for him and when he'd made it home, he hadn't told anyone what had happened. He silently helped his mother clean and repaint the kitchen, humming absently to himself while he brushed color on the primer coated walls.

He didn't know why, but the fear he'd felt at realizing that strange old man had been after him, was completely wiped out by the shock and almost bubbly feeling in his stomach remembering that warm, soft, unhurried touch of lips against his own.

Claudia had called from the Bahamas the night before where she and her friends were staying in a rented bungalow, and complained bitterly about the rain. And that her friend Sissy had gotten a terrible sunburn and they had to slather her in green goo every four hours, and Maria had gotten the most fantastical mental image of a soft oceanic blue green and decided to redo the kitchen to match it.

Ezio still had paint in his hair and on his arms when he rolled into bed, and wasn't surprised when he dropped almost instantly into sleep. All the excitement of the day had just worn him out.

However… he was surprised about what happened after.

He couldn't have been asleep very long, but one minute he was dreaming of swimming in open warm water, floating peacefully on his back with the sun warm on his naked flesh. The next he was briefly aware that he was asleep and dreaming, and he was very pleased about that because Leo had once explained to him that you could control what it was you dreamed about just by thinking it. So he climbed on top of the water and ran around like a maniac for a while, just enjoying himself, and while he was running, jumping over whales and continents or breathing under water, he began remembering the Laundromat, the solid, comfortable crush of Altair's chest and hips, those chaste, almost virginal little kisses. The warmth that had settled low in his belly… And then as if he'd just turned around and arrived forward in time somewhere dark sheets felt smooth and warm against his skin. And there was pressure from within him, thick and firm and painless, motions quick, urgent.

It sent an abrupt shock through him that the dream had changed so quickly and he tried to recoil from it, fearing it was like the others, violent and hateful… but his chest didn't feel tight, he wasn't in pain, didn't feel humiliated and detached from himself. This, whatever it was, was different.

The man moving against him seemed to shudder, muscles flexing, helpless maybe even timid sounds whispered into his neck—And the heat…

His body was hot, stretched, full, and the drag from within at every thrust, the friction against that sensitive spot inside, sent a pulse through his length where it was pinned between his own stomach and that of the man over him. Gentle sweet kisses to his lips and neck, a tender hand petting down his sides and against the small of his back.

He tingled all over sweat prickling on his brow and between them. All his focus and will honed to simple, primal urges, rolling his hips upward, fingers clutching, voice coming out in whines and gasps. The other's breath was hot against his ear, quiet, hushed little sounds of pleasure that seemed to jolt through him like lightning—

Ezio woke with a start lying on his back, legs open beneath the blankets arms above his head, panting.

_Holy shit…_

For a moment he was overcome with vertigo and a sense of loss when he realized there was nobody there with him, and he didn't know exactly where he was. But the world returned slowly, and with it the realization that this wasn't like the other times he'd opened his eyes, aware of that painful solidity, this was something completely different.

He hadn't been dreaming of some strange stoned businessman or collector pushing him face first into the mattress and prodding him open with the vile bluntness of their sex… This—THIS had been tender, relaxed pleasure at every shift and breath, warm lips mouthing at his ear and throat. Gentle soft kisses and touches.

He touched his face with shaking fingers, finding wetness leaking from both eyes, and as worrisome as this would have been any other time, closing his eyes against the sting Ezio could only think about how good that dream had felt, how much he wanted to sink back into it and just enjoy. He laid there relaxed, his limbs loose willing himself back to sleep, back to that ethereal bliss—But his heart was thudding, and the pressure between his legs was demanding attention dreams couldn't satisfy.

His lips felt swollen, over sensitive, no doubt he'd been pinching them between his teeth while sleeping, and he sucked the lower one in, drawing on it because the subtle sting went right to his crotch.

He moved slowly, focusing on remembering exactly what it had felt, tasted and smelled like in his dream, and slid a hand beneath the blankets.

His mind seemed to flail like a panicky feline, conjuring up images of hateful faces, of men bending over him and taking what they wanted. Even as he fought it, tried to focus on how wonderful that dream had been, his mind just would not cooperate.

He laid there with a hand on his stomach for the longest time, fighting tears at the injustice of it.

It wasn't fair. It just was not fair. Was it not bad enough they'd violated his body, now they had to violate his mind as well?

He rubbed his face into his elbow and worried his tongue with his teeth. _If you can't think of something nice, don't think of anything at all… _

_Don't think about it. Don't think about anything._

His hand trembled in apprehension, and he felt light and breathless. Finding the waistband of his sweats and underwear, like a great wall or boundary. He was terribly self conscious as his fingers crept beneath it, eyes closed tightly focusing on his breathing, not what his left hand was doing.

_Just go through the door._

It felt terribly awkward at first, frightening and his mind betrayed him again, filling his thoughts with images of those brutal ugly men who'd been the first to force pleasure upon him during such a despicable act.

He hated them for it, hated how disgusting he'd felt afterward. How for weeks he'd been on the verge of a break, and it would have been so easy, so clean, to just end it all and lose every semblance of self and soul. He remembered how Leo had fought for him, showed that temper of his and bullied him into eating, made him angry enough to keep going.

He'd lived on that anger for years afterward until he'd become almost numb with it. And it had taken seeing Altair's face in his room, the shock and familiarity, to bring it all back. To make him feel again.

He told himself, repeating Marjory's words; that the only reason he dreamed such things was because it was all he knew.

And slowly, the darkness and the pain were methodically pushed back, controlling his breathing. In and out, letting the world have all the bad energy and taking in the good it gave so willingly and freely to him… And for a while there was nothing running through his consciousness. A complete absence of thought, just sensation as his fingers moved and his body and mind finally started talking instead of fighting one another.

His breath had quickened, but he wasn't really paying any attention to it, just focused on feeling, his eyes closed and his right arm flung up over his face.

It had been dark in his dream… Dark but warm. Safe. And the man on top of him had been a comforting weight against his pelvis and the backs of his thighs, rocking in deliberately, but gently.

He'd smelled clean, with just an undertone of something familiar he hadn't been able to identify. His breath had been hot, but quiet, so different than the wheezing and grunting of the men who had done this to him before.

There was no pain. No hate, no violence.

He felt light. Relaxed.

He imagined that if he would open his eyes they would look at one another, and there would be kindness in those eyes. Understanding. There would be trust, love.

Ezio bowed in on himself all too soon, feeling his pleasure rush through him like waves. Everything contracting and releasing rhythmically. He whined, shuddering through it, then collapsed back against his pillows gasping for breath.

It didn't feel like he'd accomplished anything, didn't feel like he'd conquered the world. In fact after he could breathe again he felt a little sticky and gross where his hand was buried down there. And still cupping the mess he levered himself carefully out of bed, and peeked out his door with wide alert eyes.

It was still very dark and he could hear his father snoring quietly from his parents' bedroom and a dull blue light coming from under Petruccio's door said that he was probably still watching Adult Swim on Cartoon Network, or playing a game online, and Claudia's door was open on her empty room at the end of the hall.

He waddled quickly to the bathroom and shut himself inside. Blushing when he caught sight of himself in the mirror and trying to ignore it while he rinsed his hand and peeled off his sweats. He was glad when he found the dark material dry, not so glad when he found a wet spot on his underwear. Blushing even brighter, he washed them quickly with hand soap, and hid them at the bottom of the laundry basket, pulled his sweats back on and escaped to his room.

It wasn't until he was drifting off to sleep a second time, feeling relaxed in every muscle of his body, that the full implications of what he'd done truly sank in.

He'd touched himself. Had thought about a man touching him… had imagined having sex with another man—

He grunted softly in surprise and drifted off to sleep, resting happily dreamless for the remainder of the night.

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_(Short chapter is short.)_

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	40. Chapter 40

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_(A friend of mine asked me to write a side fic about Malik and Hadiya... What do you think? Yea or Nay? Any other side fics you'd like to see? *OZ has way too much free time on her hands people! Take advantage of it!*)_

**_100th Review gets a surprise!_**

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**Chapter 40; War Path**

Altair didn't sleep.

In fact, he just laid there on his bed with his face hidden in the pillows all night trying to convince himself that what had happened had been wrong. That he had done something evil to the poor young man. Taken advantage of him.

When his alarm clock went off he groaned and cursed the piece of electronic hell.

It had to be Tuesday. Why did it have to be Tuesday?

Why couldn't it have been Sunday? Shaun didn't come in on Sunday, and Desmond took any excuse for a day off he could get and he'd be able to hide here in bed and beat himself up.

He pulled his hair and shoved his face into the pillows trying to suffocate himself—

And then there was that annoying_ peck-peck-peck… peckpeckpeckpeckpeck… BANG BANG BANG!_ On his door

"Go away, Malik."

"No, now get up. They're already here and Desmond's gone insane. I think he has rabies or PMS or something."

"I'm not in the mood! Tell them to go home!"

"Altair, I will kick this door open and drag you out by your hair like the whiny little bitch you are if you do not come out right this second! There is something WRONG with Desmond and I can't handle it by myself!"

He growled and flailed immaturely, thrashing and throwing the blankets off then stomping to the door, wrenching it open and tromping past like an elephant in nothing but his underwear and socks with his hair sticking up in every direction his face a mask of pure unadulterated rage.

He threw open his office door, ready to beat the hell out of both of Shaun and Desmond for fighting… And came face to face with something he'd never seen before.

Shaun and Desmond weren't fighting. Shaun was standing pensively over where the younger man was curled into a ball hugging his calves, brow on his knees, sobbing, and the brunet's chair was broken… again, laying in three distinct pieces, wheels and stalk, seat, and backrest.

Altair thought, at first, that Desmond had hit himself in the crotch roughhousing on his chair again, but this was something different. There was no twisted metal, no scattered broken bolts, the chair was just neatly in three pieces, and Shaun looked vaguely confused.

Altair raked a hand over his hair, trying to flatten it; "What happened."

Shaun shrugged and dropped his hands to his sides; "I thought it would be funny… Took the bolts out and replaced them with bits of pencils to hold it together until he sat down. Then after he'd fallen out, he j-just started bawling."

Altair sighed and walked over with his arms crossed over his bare chest, nudging Desmond awkwardly in the ribs with his toes. "What's the matter?"

He didn't answer at first, but then, after a minute, his face lifted, blotchy and puffy, his eyes bloodshot. "L-Lucy broke up with me…"

"Why'd she do that?"

He snuffed pathetically and rubbed his nose on his sleeve; "S-she said she knew w-what I was up to. That she thought I was s-sick. That I n-ne-needed help and not t-to ever call her again, that s-she had a better b-boyfriend now, and i-if I ever came near h-her again she'd call the cops."

"What were you doin'?" Altair propped his hands on his hips.

"Nothing… Altair, I wasn't doing anything!" And he bowed his head into his knees again.

Shaun was unnaturally quiet, and Altair glanced up at him, noticing how the Brit's face looked slightly pale and he was twiddling his fingers nervously.

He sighed and rubbed his face; "Okay, look… I'm gonna go put on some pants, you j-just stay put. I'll be right back."

Malik was standing in the doorway and he jerked his chin at Shaun; "Come on, leave him alone."

He nodded and followed the older man, glancing back at Desmond with the smallest slip of remorse in his eyes.

The second the door closed behind them Malik grabbed Shaun by the collar and pressed him against the wall, his eyes dark and menacing. "What. Did. You. Do."

Shaun's mouth flapped helplessly for a few seconds, his brows scrunching indignantly, and when Altair leaned forward and narrowed his eyes as well, the Brit winced and glanced to the side away from them.

Malik let him go and took a step back, hand propped expectantly on his hip.

"Well," Shaun began slowly; "I didn't _do _anything really… S-she did it all herself. I saw her at this bar not far from campus Saturday, and the only thing I said to her was that for someone who claimed to love her so much, Desmond really did spend a lot of his time playing with l-little children."

Altair hissed under his breath, rubbed his brow, and for a moment it looked like he was seriously considering punching Shaun in the face. "What else did you say to her?"

"Nothing else, I swear. She got quiet after that and left with her roommate and some long haired bastard who thinks he's Confucius…"

Malik looked ready to kill him. His hand had balled into a fist at his side and Altair could practically smell smoke from how mad the smaller man was.

If ever a man's stare could cause something to spontaneously combust Shaun was just milliseconds away from being reduced to a pile of ash. "Do you even know the worlds of shit that boy has been through?" Malik was so angry his words were slurred slightly, as if he found it suddenly quite difficult to speak English and not some demonic tongue.

Altair tried to hush him but the smaller man held his hand up in his face and stepped close to Shaun, chin tilted upward so they met eye to eye. "Have you even actually read any of those files you've organized? Here, I'll give you a hint! It's filed under 'Auditore'—"

Altair managed to get a hand on Malik's chest and push him back. The older man flailed a little and slapped at him, growling with his face messed up; "Get off! Don't touch me!" He glared up into Altair's face then gave the front of his shirt a yank to straighten it and stormed away.

Malik, Altair had come to realize, had strange boundaries. He let his children call Altair 'Uncle' let him live in his building and eat meals with his family, and despite his prickly exterior and often standoffish or cranky demeanor he was a deeply kind and loving person. And ever since that night eleven-year-old Desmond had shown up on his doorstep, ever since those big dark eyes had looked up at him in astonishment of kindness Malik had thought was as common as breathing, a little bit of the older man had pulled Desmond into that strangely shaped family circle. Malik defended Desmond like his own son to Ethan when the man had finally bothered to show up all those years ago, and he defended him the same way against Shaun now.

But God forbid you should mention it, because Malik would then rant and yell and stomp hatefully, because he didn't want to appear 'weak' by showing any emotion other than disdain and rage to people outside of the 'family'.

Altair watched the shorter man stomp away then turned deadly keen eyes to Shaun and pinned him to the wall with a finger leveled at his nose. "I don't know why you hate him so much. But this is the last time I'm gonna warn you. If you bad mouth him, or make one more gay joke you and I will have a serious problem… understand?"

Shaun nodded, staring at a bit of dirt under Altair's fingernail, he spluttered; "I didn't kn—"

"You did to know. You knew exactly what you were doing!" He poked Shaun in the chest twice, hard enough to bruise. "You'd better sort yourself out, because I'm tired of having to clean up after you two. I've known Desmond for nine years, and I don't give a shit about how neatly you do paperwork, I'd choose him over you any day of the week. Now I mean it… You do one more thing—Slip up one more fucking time, and I will personally make sure the state of Illinois never issues you an investigative license, understand?"

He didn't move, didn't so much as nod, just stared at the opposite wall with his lips compressed and his cheeks puffed out.

Altair hesitated, swallowed thickly, then flattened his hands on the wall at either side of Shaun's head and leaned close to his ear; "I've played 'bitch' to a few men, Hastings… And it takes more balls than you'll ever have." He shoved himself away and went to find some clothes.

Shaun made a quiet noise and darted back into the office.

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When Altair came back, dressed this time in jeans and an avocado green t-shirt Malik had accidentally splashed with bleach once, Desmond was still snuffling pathetically and trying to reassemble his chair.

Altair tried to push Shaun's to his desk and make the Brit fix the broken one for himself, but Desmond practically growled at him and clutched the backrest as if his life depended on it. "I'll tell you the same thing I told him. I don't want that fuckin' chair, I want mine."

Altair lifted his hands in mock surrender and with a sigh shuffled to his desk and plopped down. He shuffled exaggeratedly through the papers and envelopes, and after a few minutes of arguing silently with himself, he pecked one in particular on his tape dispenser and flipped it in Desmond's direction. "I was savin' that for your birthday tomorrow, but well…"

Desmond stiffened, staring down at the envelope through puffy bloodshot eyes for a few seconds then, with shaking fingers picked it up. "I failed, didn't I…"

When Altair didn't answer him, just opened up a Minesweeper game on his computer and started making little muffled explosion noises between his teeth every time he clicked, Desmond just sighed miserably and pulled out the page inside. He read the first line five times before he realized what he was seeing.

Altair expected him to whoop and climb on his desk like a monkey, but Desmond just shuddered and lowered his head for a minute. His voice came out in a little mumble. "Thanks." And he folded the paper carefully, slipped it back into the envelope and placed it on his desk.

Altair was a little disappointed and propped his chin on his hand, intentionally blowing himself up.

Shaun crept out of the bathroom and slid into his seat.

Desmond glared at him fiddling with his chair for a minute, then raised his head and looked at Altair with his mouth quirked to the side. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted to give it to you on your birthday."

"No, not that… I meant, about you being gay."

He sucked his lips into his mouth as if he'd just bitten into a lemon wrapped in banana peelings and turned slowly to glare at the back of Shaun's head, where the Brit was bent over his desk like a haggard secretary.

"I'm pansexual…"

And Desmond bowed up like a startled cat; "You're what! Y-you mean you've got like… L-lady parts and shi—"

Altair groaned. "I said 'PANSEXUAL' not 'TRANSEXUAL'… Pick your hears, Des!"

Desmond gave his head a shake; "What the fuck does that mean!"

"Pansexual means I like people in general and don't really care either way." He decided small words would be best at the moment. Then as an afterthought; "You have ears, use them! I didn't think you'd need the whole workup, but maybe we should just check you in for a whole psychological evaluation… Jesus, Des."

Desmond made a face then. An entirely unique expression with his cheeks puffed out as if he were going to puke and his lips pursed… He looked like a hamster with a mouthful of marshmallows. "That's not funny! I've already got to spend all day tomorrow in doctor's offices, AND at the DMV." He pointed between Altair's eyes threateningly; "It's bad enough I've gotta have a tentus shot because of this—"

"Tetanus, TETANUS. Say it with me… T-E-T-A-N-U-S, Tetanus."

And the younger man giggled, dark eyes flashing; "You spelled anus."

Altair thumped his head against his keyboard a few times. At least the kid wasn't bawling anymore.

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Lunch was a welcome reprieve.

Shaun and Desmond disappeared, stomping down stairs and heading in opposite directions on the sidewalk, leaving Altair alone for once.

He sat with his arms crossed on his desk and his head bowed into them for a long while until Saree pecked him on the head with her little fist; "Papa's making macaroni and cheese and chicken nuggets, he wanted me to tell you to get your butt upstairs and eat something and if you argued he said I could hit you."

Altair turned and peered out at her despondently. "I'm not hungry."

"You didn't eat breakfast, and you didn't have dinner last night… Are you sick again?" She flattened one hand on his forehead the other on her own, then switched them. "Is your tongue green?"

He lifted his head and poked it out at her in a mock spiteful way and she rolled her eyes.

"I don't want to hit you but I will. Mr. Shaun showed me how."

He sighed deeply and after a minute of rubbing his face he climbed to his feet and slunk after her.

The other kids were crowded around the coffee table sitting on cushions. Zafir had flopped back and had his feet on the table, toes bare and wiggling as he sleepily gnawed on the rim of his empty cup.

Saree pushed Altair toward the kitchen and dropped onto her own cushion, plucking at her baby brother's toes trying to make him sit up, instead it just caused him to howl and kick at her.

Malik was standing over the stove stirring a pot of macaroni and cheese, dressed in a dark red hooded sweatshirt and camouflage pants he'd torn off below the knees. He had a Spiderman band-aid over a bruise on the top of his left foot and when Altair stepped into the room he jerked his chin in greeting. "Take some plates in to them… The plastic ones."

Altair yawned and pulled them down. Once he made sure they all had a plate, a little annoyed that Zafir insisted on wearing his like a hat, which in turn convinced all the others to follow suit.

Malik came out of the kitchen with a large bowl of macaroni as Altair was going back in. "Get the chicken out of the oven."

Altair wrinkled his nose up and mocked him in a nasally voice; _"'Get the chicken outta the oven.'"_ He wrapped a towel around his hand and pulled the pan out, dumping the golden brown lumps onto a plate that had been put out and snatching up the bottle of apple juice from the counter.

Malik almost ran into him as he was trudging back into the living room. They practically waltzed back and forth before Malik shoved past him with a growl of frustration.

The kids were already eating chatting back and forth and watching cartoons.

Altair sat out the chicken and filled cups, then took the bottle back to the kitchen.

"Alright, what's wrong… You were out of it last night when you got back, and you're even worse now. What happened? Did something happen to Ezio?"

He sighed in agitation and rubbed his face with both hands; "Nothing happened."

"You're a terrible liar. What happened? You came back with this mortified look on your face." He curled his fingers like claws in front of his nose then prodded Altair in the chest with his knuckles. "Now tell me what happened—"

"I kissed him."

Malik's head bobbed forward and his eyes bugged, voice coming out in a hiss; "You did _what?"_

Altair lowered his voice so the kids didn't hear, feeling like he was falling, hands coming up to push at his eyebrows; "This old man had been following him—"

"You _kissed_ him!"

"You're not _listening!_ This old man was following him, not just normal like either, like sexual predator following him, and he ducked into a Laundromat to hide from the guy and called me… I got there and he was really shaken up so I was trying to calm him down and it just kinda happened!"

Malik tangled his fingers in his hair; "What were you _thinking!"_

"I don't know! He just—I didn't—"

"What is _wrong_ with you!"

"I keep telling myself that it was disgusting, that it was a mistake and I should feel like a pervert or something. That I should be beating myself up over it—"

"But you're not?"

"Yes… No… _Fuck_, Malik, what's _wrong_ with me!"

Malik let out a sigh, hand going to his hip, and after a moment he grabbed Altair by the front of his shirt and pulled him out.

"Papa, what's wrong?" Kalila called, gnawing on a chicken nugget.

"Nothing, Altair and I just need to talk for a few minutes about the dishes."

Kalila's face wrinkled up and she turned back to the TV.

Malik shoved him into the kid's playroom and shut the door behind him. "Now, start at the beginning."

Altair dropped into a sitting position on top of a toy chest, swallowed and opened his mouth. What followed he had very little control over aside from clutching at his hair and looking up at the older man pleadingly, as if begging him to please slap some sense into him or do something other than standing there with his hand on his hip and his eyebrows scrunched together in scrutiny.

He told Malik about the first day Ezio had shown up in his office, following Desmond. Told him what Giovanni had said;

_'And what if he can identify them? Are you going to mind-fuck him? Your father said he wouldn't, and yet he let four reporters pin Ezio against a fence and tell him he deserved what happened to him. Did my son agree to help you? Properly informed? Do you think he doesn't know what the risk is? That he's incapable of handling this? Do you think he's weak? You listen to me, my son is not broken and I won't allow you to treat him like he is! Just because he was hurt does not make him weak! He is stronger than those bastards and if he said he could handle it you'd better fucking believe he can and stop with all this passive aggressive bullshit you're pulling trying to make him doubt himself!'_

That had been an eye opener. He realized he _had_ been treating Ezio as if he were close to falling apart like wet papier-mâché.

He had that image stuck in his head of Ezio being pulled away by Rodrigo, terrified, bloody and small, and he'd kept that picture of him even after he'd seen that boy had grown up. He hadn't been able to move past it. But when Giovanni had practically slapped him in the face with the fact Ezio was not the same boy who'd been taken away. That he was changed, Altair had to actually open his eyes and see.

From that moment on he'd just observed Ezio from a distance, and he'd seen such strength in the young man. He'd seen scars and fears, but he'd seen the determination and tenacity as well. He'd seen love and pride in his family and such a potent fiery will…

And Altair had slowly begun to realize that Ezio was not the broken, shivering creature he'd found in Morocco. Ezio Auditore was an intelligent, loving, caring, intensely passionate man who fought every day for justice and the normal life he'd been deprived of for nine years.

Ezio wasn't letting the people who'd hurt him control him.

"I saw him there sitting in the floor, Malik, and it scared me. It made me angry that someone had done this to him again… had taken away that light in his eyes." He snarled; "If that old bastard had laid a hand on him I would have tracked him down and killed him!"

Malik looked startled, eyes widening a little.

"And when he told me he was OK I was so relieved I just wanted to hold on to him and I—I kissed him." He bowed his head into his hands, teeth clamped together so tightly they popped and his jaws creaked.

Malik tilted his head back and rubbed his hand over his face as if asking why all this emotional bullshit had to hit the fan now of all days. "So, you like him."

"No—"

"Oh, for fucksake… Go! Get out of here!" He pointed toward the door. "Go downstairs and call that boy! He's probably confused—"

"Malik, what if I scared him? What if he's afraid of me! I took advantage of him—"

"Fine, I'll call him!" He wrenched the door open and stomped out; "This needs to be sorted out! He doesn't know why you did it. You just shoved him in a cab and sent him home!" He growled, shoving his feet into a pair of sandals and stomping downstairs. "You're an insensitive prick, you know that?"

Altair followed him with a nauseous look on his face. He'd always thought Malik looked more at home in his office than he did. Of course, he didn't think of himself as an office kind of guy. He'd rather be out in the world doing stuff instead of sitting behind a desk. Deskwork was boring.

Malik plucked his phone up and pinned it to his ear with his shoulder, "What's his number." He didn't ask, just growled it out like a demand.

"I don't know… It was on my cell phone."

"Your cell phone that got crushed by a Volvo." He growled through his teeth. "Why do you always have to make things so _difficult!"_ He punched in Desmond's number and argued back and forth with the younger man for a few seconds before he finally scribbled down the number and politely hung up on Desmond.

Altair tried to stop him, but Malik twisted and slapped at him trying to get away, and finally bent forward, Altair leaning over his back, practically on top of him trying to wrench the phone away…

And that's when they realized they could hear a phone ringing…

Everything went deathly still and they turned toward the door in unison.

Ezio was standing there with an awkward expression on his face his phone in his hand. He used it to motion to the two of them. "Am I interrupting something?"

Malik arched and threw Altair off of him, letting the taller man sprawl himself with a loud thud in the floor, slapped the phone back into its cradle and practically scampered quickly from the room.

Altair sat up, his face a mottled color, and for a moment they just stared at one another with pinched expressions.

Ezio cleared his throat; "I think we have to talk…"

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_(Cliffhangers are EVIL! *Devil Face*)_

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	41. Chapter 41

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_(INSERT TEXT WALL HERE! Only three chapters this week lovelies, mah man gave me a cold and I spent most of the week asleep. I promise more chapters next time! *begs forgiveness*) _

_(**bbb136** got the 100th review! Points to **Tessay**, and** Xazz** who guessed that Morpheus was the god of dreams. Extra points to **Xazz** for mentioning Sandman *rawk fist* I actually went as Death to a Halloween party last year, it was bitchin, even though nobody got it and everyone thought I was just a goth chick... *sad face* To **Clouds Panties** Your ID rocks! *hugs* To **siberian 74**, since your prompt sparked this thing, I owe you such a huge debt of gratitude. So I'll let you decide if there should be a love scene or not... To ohellsyea, since you were the only one to mention the creeper at the laundromat I'll let you in on a little secret... He comes back... To **Vampiress-Alexiel**, You stayed up til 4:30 reading this? Holy crap! 10 points to you!... To **sussiekitten**, your name made me happy *hugs and pets and buys you a big kitty bell*... To **Rissie**, *hugs you* 12 PM? Isn't that noon? o-0 and no, cliffhanger doesn't last long *hugs again*... To **CookieMonster599 **your ID image is absolutely hilarious! I love it! 20 points!... To **Ichbingabbie**, m on yer prfl readn yer fics =w=... **That Guy From That Place**, *hugs* I dub thee Sir Twig! And claim you as one of my evil vampire minions and feed you Moon Pies and red wine. *Is a major Lost Souls fan*... Anywho, all insanity aside, thank you guys for sticking with me all this way! *hugs you all*)_

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**Chapter 41; Where Do We Go From Here**

Malik did not consider himself a snoop. He preferred to think he was curious and merely had control issues. After his mother's death control had been absolutely lost. It had been a horrifying experience and he'd realized how important it was. And since that day it seemed to him that every time he did not have control over a situation bad things happened.

Hadiya liked to let him believe he was in charge of everything that went on in their home, he was more calm that way, he tended to have minor panic attacks when something unplanned for happened. It had been stressful, the first few years of their relationship, trying to figure out why he got so inexplicably angry and broody, or why he had to catalogue everything, keeping innumerable journals of lists. Then one day, during her classes at university, they'd covered obsessive compulsive disorder, and she'd realized why Malik was the way he was. So they'd sat down and had a long, complicated talk and come to the conclusion that Malik was aware what he did was downright insane sometimes, but it was better than the overwhelming sense of helplessness and impending doom that came over him if he didn't. So as a way to gently ease him away from the behavior, the box system had been devised. Each member of their family had a box, inside which they put the things that Malik wasn't allowed to snoop in. And as the children got older, the boxes got bigger, and he slowly learned to give up a little of his 'control'. And Malik could respect that, he could now ignore the boxes, he didn't feel that itch, that NEED to KNOW when he saw them. It was a real relief… Other things though? Well… Malik, despite what he wanted to think, was still a terrible snoop.

He had crept back down stairs after Ezio's arrival, and pressed his ear to the wall of Altair's office, out of sight of the door, so should the other man peek out he wouldn't be seen.

Gadil had appeared at the top of the steps with the phone and hissed that Mom wanted to know why he hadn't come back down to the shop yet.

Malik tried to shoo him away, holding a finger to his lips then flapping his hand and scowling, saying in a loud whisper that he was looking for his contact lens.

Gadil just cocked up an eyebrow as if to say 'on the wall?' and said in a rather bored voice to his mother; "He's snooping."

Malik rolled his eyes back into his head and threw his hand into the air in defeat.

Inside the office though, something much different was happening.

Altair had found his way onto the couch he'd moved from the area Shaun's desk now occupied to the place under his painting, and Ezio had perched himself on the other end of it, bent forward, hands clasped between his knees.

Neither of them were looking at the other, and, to Altair, it felt as if there was a wall between them. It was a thick, electrified thing and it made the air pressure in the room feel so low he almost expected lightning to strike.

It was an oppressive feeling that was for sure. And it was obvious from only his expression that Ezio didn't like it.

"I'm sorry." Altair had his hands cupped over his forehead and eyes, elbows on his knees. "I didn't mean to scare you. That was the last thing I wanted—I don't have any excuses. I did something I shouldn't have. It was wrong—"

"Why was it wrong?"

Altair scoffed and finally looked at him; "I took advantage of you. You were scared, god only knows who that old man was, or what he wanted to do to you, and after all that I pull shit like this?" He looked away, his expression pained.

"I kissed you back you know—"

"No, no this isn't your fault, it's mine. I was stupid, I didn't think I just acted, and I hurt you."

"You didn't hurt me." He propped his jaw in his palm. "Trust me. I would know if you had."

"You've been through an unimaginable ordeal, Ezio. You're in no condition to be making that kind of choice—"

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"You spent nine years as a sex slave, you've been home three months, three months is not enough time to have truly dealt with what has ha—"

"Do you know how badly I want to punch you in the mouth right now!" He didn't know where the force behind the words came from, somewhere around his liver, he thought. Some little hidden dark place, a special internal organ perhaps, that only members of his family had. It was the same place Claudia's road rage came from.

Somewhere, far, far back in their genealogy perhaps this special kind of hard, deep rage had originated in some secret dark stage of the _Famiglia Auditore_'s past and been integral to their survival, but now it was primarily used, instead of in life or death situations, for threatening incompetent drivers, or people who endangered the happiness that had been reinstated after such a long absence.

Altair felt as if the young man already had punched him and, startled, gripped the seat of the couch almost as though he were going to topple back into the floor.

"I know what those men did to me! I've had nine and a half years to think about it! I know the difference between what they did and what happened yesterday!" Ezio was on his feet before he knew he'd even so much as moved; "Do you think this is easy for me? Do you think it's easy for me to get out of bed every morning knowing what happened to me? I was raped, do you get that? I was raped, _repeatedly._ I know when someone is trying to take advantage of me, and you may not have been aware of what you were doing, but you did not take advantage of me! You didn't force me to kiss you back, and if you had tried I would have kicked you in the balls! I am NOT defenseless Goddamnit!"

Altair had shrank in on himself the moment Ezio mentioned his balls and his hands came up in an attempt to appease the young man. "Okay… OK! Calm down! Jesus!"

Ezio felt suddenly drained and dropped back into a sitting position on the couch cradling his head.

"What the hell do you want me to say then!" Altair was still curled in on himself defensively.

"I want you to tell me the truth. I want to know why you kissed me, and why you just pushed me into a cab without saying anything!"

Altair opened his mouth to speak but Ezio turned and glared at him and his mouth shut tightly, teeth clicking together.

"I don't mean what you think I need to hear. I want you to tell me why. Even if you think its wrong, I want to know… Yes, I've only been back three months, but I've been dealing with this for almost half my life, Altair. It's painful and frightening, but it didn't win. I am not deficient in any way. I'm perfectly capable of making my own decisions… Now, I want to know the real reason you kissed me and why you shoved me away afterward as if I were poisonous."

Altair's mouth felt dry and his mind was practically vibrating. Trying to decide what to say. Part of him wanted to tell the young man something that would make him leave and not come back. Another part wanted him to say that it had been an awkward accident, that Ezio had turned his head when Altair had been trying to merely peck his head like a friend. Another part, a dark hurtful part that was jealous Ezio had overcome what had happened while Altair still felt trapped by his own trauma and hurt, desired to say that he _had_ been trying to take advantage of him… But something else kept saying, the whole time those sections of thought were slugging it out, _'no, no I can't say that. I don't want to hurt him… I don't want to see him hurt any more. Just tell him the truth!'_

Ezio's brows scrunched together in irritation; "Well? Are you going to say something or are you just going to sit there staring at me with that stupid look on your face!"

Altair sighed, acutely aware that his expression had been similar to the look he wore when he ate too many vegetables and got a nasty bout of indigestion. "You're really pushy…"

The younger manlooked vaguely insulted and was opening his mouth to say so when Altair let out a grumbled curse and dropped his head into his hands.

"God… Ezio, I-I don't know why I kissed you. I just—You were so upset. You just seemed to completely lose everything you'd gotten back since I found you. I saw how scared you were and I wanted to, like, take some of it away I guess…" He steepled his fingers in front of his mouth and was quiet for a few seconds, then scratched his nails over his head and closed his eyes, as if struggling to remember something that had happened long ago. "I wanted to make you feel better."

"By kissing me?" Ezio got the vague impression then that Altair didn't like feeling things, that his emotions had cause him pain one to many times so he tried to ignore their existence.

Altair let out an exasperated sound and collapsed back his arms limp at his sides; "I thought that's what you're supposed to do! Whenever my mom was upset dad would kiss her, or when Hadiya's upset Malik does the same thing! What would you have me do!"

Ezio was blinking at him in shock. It was almost as if Altair had no idea what he'd just said. And the sudden absence of color on the older man's face said maybe he hadn't and only just realized it himself.

"That's not what I meant—"

Ezio rocked to his knees on the couch and clapped both palms over the PI's mouth, staring down into wide horror in the man's eyes. "You suck, you know that? You really, really suck!"

His brows curved downward in confusion but he didn't seem to be trying to fight or pry the younger man's hands away from his mouth.

"Do you know what Stockholm Syndrome is? And I'm not talking about the band, I mean the condition."

Slowly Altair nodded, hands still talon gripping the seat of the couch, head tilted back in an awkward position where he was partially looking up Ezio's nose, but he tried to focus on his eyes instead.

"My therapist Marjory told me to start keeping a journal when I realized I had a crush on you—"

Altair's eyes widened a little and his adam's apple bobbed erratically in his throat as if he were choking, but Ezio pushed harder over his mouth to keep him quiet.

"—No, not yet! As I was saying, I started keeping the thing, and I let her read it last week… She gave it back to me this morning with her professional opinion." He swallowed; "She doesn't think I have Stockholm Syndrome simply because I'm able to admit you have flaws. I don't think you're perfect… And you know what? You're not perfect! Half the time I come over here you do things that drive me nuts, but the other half of the time you do things that make me want to be around you in spite of the crazy things you do!" He wetted his lips, acutely aware of the proximity of their bodies, the warmth, the solidity of his presence. "I'm gonna let you up now, and I want you to just sit there, okay? I want you to just sit there and we're gonna talk like adults, alright?"

Altair thought it was a little late for that, considering Ezio was covering his mouth and pinning him to the couch, but he nodded anyway.

Slowly, the younger man's hands lifted and he sat back on his heels, just barely six inches from the PI, his cheeks kind of pink.

After a moment of silence Ezio rubbed nervously at his neck; "I didn't hurt you did I?"

"No… no," He rubbed feeling back into his lips and eyed Ezio warily. "I just—I just don't know what to say, really."

"Well, you can start by explaining why you felt the need to kiss me in the first place. That'd help a great deal."

He swallowed, his throat feeling thick and started slowly, telling Ezio almost exactly what he'd told Malik. He left out most of the curses though, they had been there to express his frustration, not because they were strictly necessary.

Ezio was eerily silent through the whole thing, nodding only when it seemed appropriate.

Altair ended bent over his knees rubbing the back of his neck, feeling sick to his stomach and sweaty as if the food poisoning were back. "You're not poisonous… I didn't shove you away because of anything you did. What happened was wrong. I'm older than you, I investigated your case, I found you. I'm involved professionally, I can't be involved emotionally."

"Why not?"

"Because it's wrong."

"Why? My case is closed. And as for you being older than me, my father's older than my mother, Katie is older than Federico, what does it matter?"

"You were working with me."

"I was volunteering. There's a difference. I worked with you because I wanted to, not because you asked me."

"Nobody else would see it that way. They'd look at you, what you've been through, and think the same thing. That I was taking advantage of you!"

"But you're not!"

"That doesn't matter! What matters is what everybody else thinks—"

"Fuck what everybody else thinks! I like you, you like me! Nothing else should matter!"

"It shouldn't, but it does. I can't… We can't."

Ezio stared at him in shock for a few minutes, his throat tightening, eyes beginning to blur with moisture.

Altair looked away from him, nails biting into the nape of his neck. "You should probably go now."

At first it didn't seem like he was going to move, but a noise from the hall, the opening of a door and familiar, heavy footfalls and bickering seemed to be a nail in the preverbal coffin.

Desmond shoved open the office door, Shaun behind him, scowling severely with his arms crossed.

"Look, you can be mad at me all you want, but the point is, I don't want you there, Shaun! It's my birthday, and its your fault my girlfriend hates me, so NO, you can't—" He paused, mid sentence, startled and staring at Ezio. "Hey, what're you doin' here?"

Ezio opened his mouth to say he was leaving, but his throat felt too tight and instead he just shook his head, snatched up his bag and fled.

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	42. Chapter 42

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_(Long chapter is LONG… And full of Desmond.)_

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**Chapter 42; Birthday Surprise**

Desmond's birthday came with a bang… More specifically the young man actually bounding into Altair's bedroom at four o'clock that morning, despite the fact the older PI hadn't slept for the second night in a row. Laying awake staring into space feeling like the very shit scraped from the bottom of someone's shoe, remembering the feel of Ezio's face between his hands, the prickle of sparse facial hair on his jaw where he'd missed a spot with the razor the day before, the relieved, curious gleam in his eyes as for that split second they'd just looked at one another before Altair had leaned in and—

"Wake up, Old Man, if I've gotta have shots you've gotta drive me."

"I don't have my driver's license, Des… you know that." He growled from under his pillow.

"Fine then, I'll drive!"

"Your license is dead." He turned his face out to look at him. "You're not twenty anymore."

"Okay, we'll take a fucking cab, how's that?" He was wandering around the room picking at things, peering into drawers that hadn't quite been shut because there were too many socks inside, or kicking rumpled dirty clothing piled in the floor out of the way, nudging what at first looked like a condom beside the bed with the toe of his shoe, but he was relieved to realize was just a lollipop whose stick had broken off. He stepped on it, satisfied when it crunched instead of squished.

"Des, why the hell are you in my room? How'd you even get in here, Malik doesn't open up until eight and other than him buzzing you in down stairs you'd have to have a key to get through the door."

"I unlocked your office window last night before I left."

Altair blinked rapidly for a few seconds, then lifted his head and peered through the dark at Desmond. "You crawled up the side of the building?"

He nodded proudly.

"What are you, a damn capuchin or something?"

"Cappuccino? Oh… I-I only brought you coffee, and I had to go upstairs to make it… Sorry."

Altair sighed miserably and rolled out of bed. "There's somethin' wrong with you."

His brows scrunched up in confusion; "I'm fine."

"No, no you're not." He shuffled to his closet and yanked down a few things at random, scooped his jacket up out of the floor and disappeared into the bathroom. He heard Desmond 'discreetly' going through his CDs and DVDs as he washed his face and dressed. Taking a few minutes to scrub his teeth clean and dodge his reflection before he shuffled out to change socks and fish his shoes from under the bed.

Desmond was sitting on his feet with a CD held close to his face, mouth moving silently as he read the tracks list and dedication on the back of the case. When Altair nudged him in the thigh with his foot signaling he was ready the younger man just seemed to rock to his feet, sticking the disc back in order, then practically galloped down the hall, took the stairs two at a time and beat Altair to the street by almost a full minute.

It was still mostly dark, the sky that dark purple color that faded into gold toward the east. It was slightly foggy, and everything seemed to glow unnaturally.

"Okay, what's first? I'd kinda like to get the shot over with… I hate needles." He gave a full body shudder and poked his tongue out. "And also, I _am_ planning on getting drunk tonight, I hope you know. That isn't gonna mess with it is it?"

Altair nodded; "You actually don't have to have the shot right away—"

"Oh, thank you sweet baby Jesus!" He bent practically in half with his head between his shins, then righted himself and kept walking.

"—and no, I haven't forgotten you want to get plastered tonight… I owe you a Fruity Tutu."

And Desmond practically crowed; "It's FUNKY MONKEY!" and started waving frantically at the cars passing sluggishly by in the street, trying to find a cab.

"Did you have crack for breakfast? Why do you even need me to come? You've been going to the doctor by yourself since you were seventeen!"

The younger man didn't reply so Altair rubbed his face wearily. "It's gonna be one of_ those _days I guess."

They finally managed to find a cab about fifteen minutes later, unfortunately there was a car accident about three blocks from the hospital, and traffic looked to be going nowhere for a long while, so Altair passed the cab driver an extra five and suggested having an early lunch. The man laughed but nodded his thanks and watched as the two of them climbed out and jogged to the sidewalk.

Desmond leapfrogged over a few parking meters as they walked, startling people who'd just been minding their own business. "Can we hurry this shit up, I'm starving!"

"Why didn't you eat anything before you showed up?"

"I'm going to the doctor, you don't eat anything before you go to the doctor!"

"Only if you're having blood work done."

He landed with a loud thud at Altair's elbow and scowled at him; "You mean I could have eaten something!"

"Look, if you don't act like a whacko in here I'll buy you a whole fucking birthday cake."

"Really? A chocolate one?"

"Despite the fact I don't think you need any more chocolate _ever_ in your _life_; Yes, a chocolate one."

"Hells yeah! Let's get this bitch done!" And he darted ahead.

"I said to act _normal!"_

"Why? Normal is boring." He skipped backward presenting his pack to Altair as they walked. "Can you get my pills? I'll be even worse by the time we get out of here unless I take one now."

"You didn't take your pills either?" He yanked the zipper open and fished the bottle out. "Do you need water?"

"Hey, I thought I was supposed to come fresh out of bed! I brushed my teeth and found some deodorant, you're lucky I didn't come in my underwear! I haven't even taken my morning shit yet!"

"Des, I don't need to know that…" He wrinkled his nose and handed the bottle over then watched with a wince as Desmond just choked one down dry and popped the cap back on. "How the fuck do you swallow those damned things without water."

"If I take 'em with water I feel like I'm drowning."

Altair scoffed and shoved the bottle back into Desmond's bag. Usually the younger man could handle the ADHD without the pills. But if he was stressed all control went through the window and he was like a chipmunk with a cherry bomb.

Altair prayed the pill kicked in quickly.

Altair was surprised the non-emergency waiting room was practically empty when they arrived. Just a man with a row of stitches on his brow who looked healed enough that he was probably here to have them removed.

Altair popped his headphones on and turned the volume of his MP3 player up enough to be proper and sat Desmond's bag in the chair beside him while the younger man disappeared toward the exam rooms.

A few more people filed in or out. A mother and her three small children. A couple teenagers, college students having physicals and shots before going away to school next month, nothing exciting.

It seemed to take forever, but Desmond finally came back out looking disgruntled and insulted. He snatched his bag up, swung in dramatically on and started stomping away again. Altair nudged him and pulled his headphones down;

"Where do you want to go for lunch?"

"I'm not allowed leave yet."

"What?"

"I have to talk to this dipshit doctor."

"About what?"

He fended Altair off with a raised hand and stomped to the vending machines, pumping almost five bucks into it for Doritos and a Mountain Dew, then he plopped himself down on a bench in the hallway and stuffed his face with a kind of mirthless abandon.

"Did they give you a prostate exam or someth—"

"No!" He said it loudly and wrinkled his nose at the older man.

"Then what is it?"

"It's your fault, that's what it is… You jinxed me. They've never thrown such a fit about it before." He didn't say anything else for almost thirty minutes, just finished his chips and soda and sat leaned back, shoulders tense tapping his foot in aggravation. "I should have just come by myself."

A man in a lab coat came over a few minutes later carrying a file with colorful tags stuck on it. "Is this your… Brother maybe?" The doctor was squinting one eye and motioning.

Desmond stared down the hallway hatefully without offering a bit of an explanation.

Altair wondered if a grunt and the Vulcan hand sign would be appropriate.

And then he noticed the man's nametag. _Dr. John D. Andrews,_ _Chief Audiologist._

"Mr. Miles, you are aware why we're doing this, correct?" Dr. John had Desmond's chart open on his palm like a priest or something.

"To be a pain in the ass?"

The doctor's mouth compressed; "You have had numerous exams since these injuries occurred you have been scheduled for fittings nine times and failed to show up to the appointments. So I just would like to hear your explanation as to why this doesn't seem to rank high enough on your list of priorities—"

"My priorities are a little more centralized on the luxuries like water, food, heat, a roof over my head, you get the picture_."_

"This is your health we're talking about—"

"I can read lips, I'm fine. I don't need the damned things—"

"There isn't any reason why you have to live like this, Mr. Miles. It's a small price to pay for the quality of life having a full range of hearing could offer you."

Altair had experienced in his life time, moments of stark clarity. This one though, took the preverbal cake.

Desmond climbed to his feet, hands up defensively; "I'll tell you exactly what I've told the other guys… I have no interest in it. I've lived with this for years. I'm fine." He nudged Altair in the shin with the toe of his shoe, shoved his hands into his pockets. "Come on."

Altair grinned sheepishly at Dr. John and darted after Desmond, tugging up his hood so nobody would notice him. Following the younger man's retreating back. He managed to catch up about half a block away, jogging to stay beside him; "Des, are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Just leave me alone."

"You're obviously not fine…" he tilted his head and peered under the younger man's hood; "Jeez, you're crying… Don't _do_ that, you _know_ it makes me nervous."

"Fuck you. I'm not cryin'." He rubbed his nose on the length of his sleeve like an unhappy child and looked away from him into the street.

"Fine."

It was quiet for a ten count.

"Des. If you don't mind my askin' and all… What happened."

"Bully… slapped me upside the head and ruptured my eardrums."

"How bad is it?"

He shrugged in an exaggerated manner and rubbed nervously at his ears, as if just thinking about it made them ache. "The doctors said they're scarred up pretty bad. I've got sixty percent on the left side and less than forty on the right."

Altair was amazed that it had been that bad and he hadn't noticed. He thought Desmond was just absent minded, kind of a ditz… Not hearing impaired. He kicked a discarded coke cup as the wind blew it past his feet. "So, the doctor thinks you need—" He motioned to his head.

"I can't afford it, Altair, and the business insurance won't cover it because it's a preexisting condition. I've looked into it already, believe me. I'm doing fine without 'em, so why bother."

"But, if you could afford it, would you?"

He narrowed his eyes at the older man; "No, I don't want you doin' anything. This is _my _problem, I'll handle it. It's not a necessity I'm perfectly fine right now. I'm more aware of other things—I don't _need_ 'em."

"Des, if they'll help you hear—"

"I can still hear well enough. Shaun's always yelling at me, so there's no problem there, and my left side is to you at the office, so I can hear you OK. What's the big deal! I've survived this long the way I am, why change a good thing."

"How much of it is hearing, and how much of it is you reading our lips? Yesterday, you couldn't hear me talking, could you? You were reading my lips. That's why you got confused."

He glared at Altair with his mouth compressed into a thin line.

"What about the telephone? Is this why you avoid answering the goddamn phone and when you do you almost always tell them to call me back?"

"Screaming at me isn't gonna change my mind any more than those assholes at the hospital and their bullshit."

Altair dropped his arms to his sides and took a deep breath. Arguing with Desmond was about as constructive as arguing with a brick wall. He just got more and more defensive and dug in deeper and deeper like a fucking tick.

"I've seen these things at the dollar store, that are supposed to like, amplify sound but they're prob'ly junk."

"Well, junk that works a little bit is better than nothing."

"I'm sure _they_ would argue with you until you were blue in the face." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the hospital.

"I'm already blue in the face arguing with you."

Desmond shoved his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders, his face wrinkling up into a pout; "I just don't want to look like an old man."

"You're twenty-one, you won't look like an old man."

He scoffed; "You haven't seen these things. They're big and weird looking—"

"I'll make a deal with you, okay? You go to the dollar store and get a pair of these things, wear them tonight—"

"I'm not wearing them to the bar, Altair. No way!"

"Just listen to me a minute…" He glared, then with a shake of his head looked forward again; "Get them, and wear them tonight and if anybody notices I'll apologize and I won't say another word about it."

"I'm not doing it." He crossed his arms defensively and took longer strides, trying to put Altair behind him.

Altair rolled his eyes. He was in no mood for this, as it was this day was getting worse and worse. He was exhausted, and when he was tired his tolerance for the world and BS in general diminished by about ninety percent. He really wasn't looking forward to that bar party tonight… Really not looking forward to it—

When he faced forward again, he couldn't see Desmond anywhere.

"Des?" he turned around, peered into shop fronts, but the younger man was just gone.

He reached for his phone, patting himself down, cursing vilely when he remembered it being crushed under that damned Volvo.

"I hate cars!" he growled under his breath; "I HATE them."

He didn't know what to do, so just frantically paced back and forth on the block and started peering into shop fronts looking for Desmond, feeling more and more uneasy the longer the younger man wasn't in his sight.

"Altair, what the hell, man! Where'd you go!"

He turned feeling on the verge of collapse as the adrenaline ebbed and grabbed Desmond's shoulder; "Where did _you_ go!"

"Cake!" He pointed across the street. "I'm hungry. You said if I acted normal you'd buy me a cake… I was normal. There's the cake! Come on, put two and two together!" His brows drew down. "Jesus, you look like shit."

He narrowed his eyes; "Really? Thanks so very much."

"What's your problem? You're actin' really out of it."

"It's nothing… Can we just GO, I thought you were hungry." He gave Desmond a little shove toward the cake shop. "And you've still got to stop at the DMV."

"That's fine, they're gonna deliver the cake to the office," And he pulled Altair away.

Altair's blood ran cold; "You ORDERED a cake?"

"Yeah!" He grinned; "It's a really cool one too! Dark chocolate with fudge icing and raspberry g—"

"I didn't mean ORDER a fucking cake! I mean like, I'd buy one from the grocery store or some shit! Not a—"

"Well you didn't say anything!" He looked heartbroken. "Fuck, I'll just call them and cancel it then… God! Why are you being such a dick today!"

Altair snatched the cell phone away and shoved it into his pocket.

"Nice. Real nice, Altair. Give it back."

"No." He rubbed the bridge of his nose; "Listen, you can get that one if you want it, just… I'm not in a very good mood today—"

"Obviously!"

"—I've had a real tough week so far."

"You were fine until Ezio called the other night… What happened? And why was he at the office yesterday? Why was he crying?"

"We had a misunderstanding that cleared itself up."

"So he was crying because it got cleared up? That doesn't sound like it's a good thing."

Altair scoffed lightly, and glanced at his reflection in a few windows as they passed. He looked awful. Old and hollow eyed.

"Should we wait for the bus, or take a cab?" Desmond nudged him with his elbow.

"Cab… I want to get this over with as soon as possible. I haven't slept in two days—Maybe I'll get plastered with you so I can rest, how many Fruity Monkeys does it take to get drunk?"

Desmond sighed; "At least you got half of it right."

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The DMV was surprisingly cooperative. Desmond walked in, filled out a few forms and sat down to wait with a crowd of other people to have his license renewed.

Altair waited outside in the sun with his hood pulled over his eyes and his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Hunched in on himself in misery.

His mind kept whirring, the conversation he'd had with Ezio standing out most prominent, as well as what the doctor had said about Desmond. All of it mashed together with images of expensive chocolate cakes dotted with raspberries.

And then Desmond's phone started vibrating in his pocket and Altair almost jumped out of his skin fighting to answer it. The little screen was cracked, lightning bolts and smears all he could see in it, and the volume was turned up quite loud.

"Hello?"

"D—Wait… Who is this? Where's Desmond?" It was a girl… But it was not Lucy.

"Uh… Desmond's busy right now, this is his boss—uhm—do you want to leave a message or something?"

"Oh…" She sighed in a put upon way. "No, no… Just tell him Sophia called."

"Okay."

"Right." And she hung up.

Altair pressed what he thought was the end call button and turned the phone over in his hands. The thing was almost in as bad a shape as his own had been before it was crushed. He ran his tongue over his teeth for a few minutes, and glanced over his shoulder when he heard the door open behind him.

A couple people walked out, none of which were Desmond, so Altair relaxed again.

Almost half an hour later Desmond finally came out grinning; "Look, I'm all legal and shit!" He held it up; "It's still warm!" He chuckled darkly; "Let's go test drive a Mustang or something!"

"No, let's not." He handed the phone over; "A girl named Sophia called for you… Your girlfriend dumped you not forty-eight hours ago and you're already getting calls from strange women?"

Desmond's eyebrows drew down testily; "She's my step mother, moron." He shoved the phone in his pocket and stomped away.

Altair levered himself tiredly up and followed; "Sorry… I didn't know."

"You don't know a lot of things, and I'd like to keep it that way."

"Fine." After a minute he gave Desmond's shoulder a light slap; "Who do you have service through?"

"It's a disposable. That fifty a month unlimited shit, you know…"

He grunted; "I need a new phone and I don't know what to get you for your birthday… Chris and Walker got me a striper-gram for my twenty-first—"

Desmond spluttered and turned bright red. "You're not sending me a s-stripper are you?"

"Do you want one?"

"NO!"

Altair laughed. "Sorry… Maybe seein' boobs would do you some good."

"How would looking at boobs do me any good right now!"

He shrugged; "Didn't Lucy ever show you hers?"

"No."

"Never?"

He shook his head.

"Jesus, you're a virgin, aren't you!"

"SO!" He glared daggers at Altair. "It's none of your business!"

The PI just grinned and mussed his hair playfully.

Desmond as a young boy, and always wondered what it was like to have an older brother. When he'd met Ezio he'd studied the relationship he and Federico had shared. How Federico was protective and loving, even though he and Ezio had fought some. After their kidnapping, seeing how this stranger had fought to protect them, Desmond had kind of adopted Altair as his older brother. He found the dynamic similar to what he remembered, the playfulness, the protective side. Altair even fought with him and had practically let him live on his couch.

It was strange for him to think that they really weren't.

"Shaun got a new phone… he was showing it to me yesterday before my chair collapsed. It's got a full keyboard and a touch screen and shit."

"You say 'shit' too much."

"Says the man who can't say 'phone' without 'goddamn' in front of it."

"Hey, that's its name. It's how I can tell you mean THAT one, not my cell… And why does Shaun's phone have a keyboard?"

"It's got internet too."

He wrinkled his nose. "Why?"

"Because it's cool."

"It's stupid!"

"Whatever."

Altair almost had to throw himself bodily into the street to stop a cab, and even then he wondered if jumping in front of one would make some of the driver's stop. It seemed to him that there were a couple who would as soon run you over as stop to pick you up.

"I'm really hungry… Can we please get a burger?" Desmond climbed in beside him looking desperate.

"We'll eat later. I need a new phone."

"Altair, I'm HUNGRY! I can't starve myself like you!"

"We'll eat later, calm down before you give yourself a hernia."

The ride went by silently after that, Desmond glaring out the window or sighing and rubbing his stomach.

They got stuck in traffic for almost twenty minutes and Desmond rolled down the window and propped his chin on his fist, staring up at some pigeons sitting on a rooftop and wondering what it would be like to have wings. He'd be able to fly around the city and not have to worry about walking or cabs or his driver's license he never used, ever again. "Can you eat pigeons?"

Altair laughed.

Desmond refused to look at him until they got to the phone store.

The whole store inside was painted orange. A violent, eye stinging color that Altair didn't particularly like. He explained what had happened to his old phone to the girl behind the counter, flirted at her to keep her attention, and let her showcase a few tiny pieces of junk to him.

Desmond nudged him a few times and pointed to other phones. Saying in a low voice; "That one's cool." "This one comes with a headset…" "Oh, my God! That's the tiniest laptop I've ever seen! It's like for a baby or some shiiii—something."

Altair excused himself from the girl and crossed his arms shuffling over to lean around Desmond and spy on what he was doing.

"This one is awesome!" The younger man was saying, pointing; "It's better than Shaun's. That's the one you want!"

He grunted and fished out his wallet; "Go to Subway… I don't eat ham. If I come over there and you've got a ham sandwich I'll kick your ass, understand?"

"Why don't you eat ham? You're not religious so what does it matter?" he took the money Altair handed him.

"I just don't. No more questions. Go, I'm tired of hearing your stomach roaring like that. I'll meet you in a few minutes."

"Thank you!" And he darted out.

Altair found the girl again before she could get distracted by something sparkly and told her what he wanted, signed paperwork she shoved at him, and waited while she checked in the back to see if they had any left.

"Lucky Duck," She came out grinning a few minutes later, holding the boxes like a baby in her arms. "We've only got three left now."

He acted as if he cared and drummed his fingers on the counter while she did whatever she was paid to do and activated the damned things.

By the time she was finished he was so bored and miserable he was practically falling asleep with his head leaned on his palm, imagining nightmarish chocolate cakes chasing him.

He finally left the store, swinging that ugly orange bag, marching across the street to the Subway.

Desmond was seated near the window scowling and trying to wipe chipotle sauce from his shirt, but he was only managing to smear it around. When he saw Altair come in he pointed to the bag and scowled, stating in a deep triumphant falsetto; "Turkey!"

"Good enough." He sat down and tore into it, trying not to think as he ate. Watching Desmond attack his own, it wasn't until he was halfway done that he noticed something was amiss.

He'd been almost a half an hour waiting for that girl to finish 'setting up' the phones, why hadn't Desmond completely decimated that sub already? He could take down a foot-long a large coke and a bag of chips in ten minutes flat! And yet it looked like he had only just started, eyes wide and intent as he followed people going past on the street.

"Was there a line or something?"

Desmond shook his head and muttered around a mouthful. "No."

"Well, if you were starving when I sent you over, why haven't you inhaled that thing by now, or is this your second?"

He shrugged, looking innocent. "I looked around first." He hiked his behind off the seat and fished in his pocket, pulling out a wad of change and dollar bills and held it out to the older man. "Your change."

"Keep it."

The soda fountain at the other end of the room began buzzing, ice shifting and clacking—

Dimes and quarters flew through the air and Desmond's hand came up like a fist, eyes wild. "What was that!"

The people in line stared at him as if he were insane.

Altair blinked at him startled and spoke around swallowed before he spoke; "What was what?"

"That NOISE!" His chest heaved; "Fucking gave me a heart attack!"

Altair chuckled, amused and scrubbed a hand on his jeans, then leaned forward and prodded the hair covering the younger man's ears.

Desmond slapped at him and yanked his hood up pulling the string until he was just an angry face. "Knock it off, OK! I got the damned things… Why the hell didn't you tell me it was so noisy! I almost crapped myself! How the fuck do you expect me to wear these to a bar. A bar is noisy even without 'em."

"Where'd you find 'em anyway?"

"There's a dollar store about two blocks from here… I ran."

"You could have waited, I'd've gone with you."

"That's exactly why I ran." Slowly he uncoiled and stared around like a startled deer.

"Maybe you've got 'em turned up too high… Malik'll help you when we get back. He's good with electronic stuff." He stuffed the last of his sandwich into his mouth and wadded the paper into the empty chip bag.

The bus ride back to the print shop was an adventure. Desmond sat with his hands curled over his ears the whole time, staring up at Altair as if he didn't understand how the older man could tolerate all the NOISE. That's all it was to him, just an indecipherable mash of shrill and pounding. An endless cacophony that speared its way through his head like a madwoman with an ice pick. "I don't like this." His own voice seemed shouted.

Altair patted his shoulder and finally the bus pulled to a halt.

Desmond practically teleported off of it and into the print shop, still gripping the sides of his head. Altair followed at a more reasonable pace and when he got inside found Malik standing behind the counter examining one of the things while Desmond was practically laying over the surface with his head bowed into the cradle of his arms.

They really were big awkward looking things. Like those ear clip headphones Altair liked.

Malik was twiddling it between his fingers expertly, "Until you get used to it you don't need the volume much higher than fifty percent… Otherwise its just sensory overload." He handed it back and glanced up at Altair when the PI came in. "I don't know how you convinced him to do it, I've been trying for six years."

Altair squinted; "You knew?" He wasn't really surprised.

"I'm the one who took him to the hospital after it happened. Of course I knew!"

Desmond had fitted the thing to his ear again and disappeared into the back, walking slowly around and peering at the machines as if he'd never seen them before.

Hadiya walked past him carrying a box of books from the binding room, she pecked his cheek and wished him happy birthday then scrubbed the light lipstick stain away with her thumb. She came out into the front a few seconds later and sat the box on the counter. "These need shelved, and I am going up stairs to check on the kids and lie down for a bit."

Malik grunted in acknowledgement and started picking through the contents of the box. Desmond wondered back into the main room and helped him shelve them while Altair leaned onto the counter and dozed off. He dreamed of that pained look on Ezio's face just before the young man had darted away, and woke to a sharp rap of knuckles against the top of his head.

"Hey! You talk in your sleep!" Desmond sounded very amused. "And where's your wallet, the cake's here!"

He lifted his head quickly and blinked dazedly around. Sure enough, there was a delivery van out front and a man standing before him holding a yellow and blue polka-dot box roughly big enough to fit a basketball in.

He grumbled about the stupid seventy dollar cake, even as Desmond sat the box on the counter and pulled it open with shaking hands. "Mmmm! Oh GOD, you can smell the raspberries!" he wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

Malik crept over sniffing. "Is that for the bar party?"

"Hell no… This is expensive cake! This is GOOD cake."

Malik made a surprised noise in his throat. "Are you going to share?"

"I'll share it… But it'll cost 'ya." He grinned deviously.

"You can't borrow the car."

"AWWW, come on!"

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The bar Desmond had chosen was within walking distance of the print shop. He figured it would be best incase he had too much to drink, that way he could crash in Altair's bathtub and not have to worry about getting across town to his apartment without throwing up in the back of a cab.

It was a busy place, lots of people going in and out, loud music and stiff drinks.

A few of his friends from school were there, as well as a few people he didn't personally know who had just gravitated to the excitement for social gratification and the chance that maybe they wouldn't have to go home alone tonight.

Altair didn't like it. It was ugly and dark and was full of ugly, lonely sweaty people. The bartender wasn't even that cute. A middle age man with a receding hairline who still dressed like a teenager and walked around with an obvious tent in his pants.

Despite the fact he found himself drawn like a magnet to the tent, Altair didn't want anything to do with the man. He was just there to do what he'd promised, and make sure Desmond didn't get alcohol poisoning.

Desmond spent the first twenty minutes of the party walking around with his hands over his ears and a pained expression on his face, after that he gave up and stuffed the hearing aids in his pocket, deciding it was just too loud to tolerate with them on. A few of his female friends tried to pull him this way and that, wanting to dance or do shots, or paw at him, all of them slurring their words and leaning awkwardly on him, faces flushed and oblivious.

Desmond finally gave in and danced with them, then came back a few minutes later, before the song had even finished looking unhappy.

"What's wrong?"

"I didn't realize how dumb they acted when they were drunk." He turned on his stool and watched them all grinding suggestively against one another in a tight knot. "My friends are sluts."

"Well, I can't stop you if you want to get drunk too and be stupid with them… You like Funky Monkeys, right?" He motioned to the glass on the bar.

He turned and smiled, fingering the cup. "You actually said it right, I'm astonished!"

"I'm not entirely inept when it comes to booze. I know what a Funky Monkey is, and that Jello Shots and schnapps are evil."

Desmond snorted; "Jello shots and Schnapps? Seriously?"

"Apparently I have shit alcohol tolerance."

"I'd say."

And then there seemed to be a rush of bodies and Desmond found himself crushed and lifted into the air, amazingly he didn't spill his drink.

Altair recognized them immediately and felt heat rush to his face.

Claudia had a bright green 'DESIGNATED DRIVER' bracelet around her wrist, and it glowed eerily in a blacklight above the bar, Federico had Desmond around the waist laughing, looking flushed in the face as if he'd already had a few himself… And Ezio was standing beside his sister laughing hysterically.

After Federico had put him down, they talked quickly, asked how things had been, pleasantries and the like.

"Where's your girlfriend and the baby?"

"Katie is having a night off, she went to a movie and dinner with some friends, mom and dad are babysitting." He nuzzled into Desmond's shoulder, dropping onto a stool beside him… He was a terribly affectionate drunk.

Claudia leaned in and kissed Desmond on the cheek; "We went to the wrong bar, Eli's brother found us and brought us here."

Desmond glared around hatefully; "Shaun's here?"

"He was a minute ago…" She followed his gaze but couldn't find the redhead anywhere. "He must have gone." She sighed and pulled an envelope from her purse; "This is from mama and papa, they said happy birthday."

The songs changed and Federico howled arms up above his head like he'd just scored a touchdown, darting onto the dance floor.

Claudia groaned, eyes rolling. "I'd better go get him before he starts taking his clothes off."

Desmond barked a laugh; "He takes his clothes off when he's drunk?"

"No, it's just this song… He's crazy." She shook her head as if it was a great shame, and disappeared into the crowd.

Ezio had slipped into Federico's abandoned seat watching while Desmond opened the envelope and pulled out the card. While the younger man was reading his eyes lifted and caught Altair staring at him, brows curled in a distinctly unpleasant way. They looked at one another for a moment, then Altair turned away.

Ezio blinked sadly, then flagged down the bartender and asked for something that would make him forget his name, and rested his chin on his crossed arms miserably.

It wasn't much of a party in Altair's opinion. Of course, he wasn't really sure what constituted a party any longer. Maybe watching your drunken friends grope one another and make out with random strangers was fun to some people.

Desmond watched it all with a muted look of confusion and disgust on his face. While Federico dozed a few stools away his head pillowed on his arms and Claudia munched happily on a basket of nachos he'd abandoned. It didn't count against her diet if he was buzzed enough to think he'd eaten them himself.

And Ezio sat there silently, holding his head in one hand nursing something amber colored in a short fat glass with a far away look in his eyes.

Altair got up and started working his way through the crowd toward the bathroom, feeling faded and drunk even though he hadn't had anything, and he was pretty sure they didn't put alcohol in the food. When he came back out again, trying to ignore the couple going at it against a wall beside the payphone, he noticed Desmond had been dragged back out into the throng of dancing drunks again by some of his 'friends' and there was a half empty glass beside the one Altair had bought him. There was also a new bartender. A blonde, who was wiping down the counter and watching the crowd intently with his slicked back hair and an expression that said he owned the place and if you didn't like it you could politely go fuck yourself.

Altair pointed to the half empty glass of pink; "What's that?"

"Pink Squirrel." The man didn't take his eyes off the crowd.

Altair grunted and rested his chin on his hand. He yawned and glanced down the length of the bar, noticing right away that Ezio was turned in his seat, watching the dance floor, his brows scrunched. He looked tired, as if he hadn't slept, Altair wondered how bad he looked, and raised his head, staring into the mirror above the bar, he barely noticed that the blonde was gone, just found himself in the mirror. He could just make out Desmond's long sleeves through the crowd of undulating bodies, and then he realized he did look just as bad, if not worse than Ezio did. He hid his head in his arms, pretending to doze off like Federico had.

He stayed like that for a few minutes… and then something changed.

Like those first few thin tendrils of smoke you could smell before you realized your house was on fire. An itch in the back of his mind.

He raised his eyes, glancing toward the end of the bar, and noticed Federico was sitting up, staring around with blurry, not quite sober eyes, and Claudia was as well… He saw Ezio move from the corner of his eye. Shifting forward a step, like a cat, his arm moving and sitting his glass back onto the counter behind him, and his lips moved.

Altair couldn't hear it over the loud music, but he knew the shape of the word on those lips.

"Desmond."

Altair lifted his head and turned, something feeling heavy in his gut, and he saw the young man briefly in a space in the crowd, leaning heavily on one of his friends with a hand to his head.

The crowd shifted, and suddenly Ezio was moving. Disappearing quickly into the crowd and Claudia was on her feet.

He was abruptly inundated by a sick, nervous feeling, an overwhelming sense of dread and Altair darted onto the dance floor.

The press of bodies was extraordinary, heat and sweat and a smell like dull sex and pounding music. An alien, maddening, almost insane feeling gnawing on the base of his brain… And then he found them.

Desmond was on his knees, everyone around him still moving, dancing on obliviously, and Ezio was there, trying to pick him up, eyes darting around frantically. His mouth moved, but the music was too loud to hear him properly.

"Something's wrong!"

Altair nodded; "He's drunk."

Ezio shook his head; "No. He hasn't had enough to be drunk yet. Something's wrong."

Altair bent and dragged Desmond's arm over his shoulder and between him and Ezio, they carry the younger man out.

Claudia came over quickly but Altair shooed her away; "He needs some air, he'll be OK."

The bartender with the receding hairline was back and he blinked when Altair and Ezio dragged Desmond up. He looked surprised. "What happened?"

"He's had too much."

Altair propped Desmond up on a bar stool and framed his face with both hands. His skin was sticky and hot, and he seemed to be trying to sluggishly speak, but his eyes kept rolling around.

"Altair." Ezio gripped his arm. "There's something _wrong_ with him."

"He's fine, he hasn't had anything to drink in three months. He's just drunk!" He looked pointedly at Ezio with his brows drawn down, but the young man didn't back away.

"I know drunk. He isn't drunk, he only had two. I've heard his stories, he can hold a lot more than that!"

Claudia snatched up the half empty Pink Squirrel and politely dumped it across the bar.

The bartender looked angry and grabbed a towel to mop it up but Ezio's eyes bugged and he held out his hand; "Wait a minute!"

As the liquid spread over the smooth surface a few pale chalky little bits of grit became visible amid the pink.

The bartender leaned over and stared at it surprised then rocked back and motioned to the two other men behind the bar with him. "Who got that for him? Where'd that come from?" he pointed to the glass.

The other two shrugged and said they'd been with other patrons.

Ezio narrowed his eyes; "Just after you left a blonde came over and gave it to him. Said it was on the house because of his birthday… He was here just a second ago."

The man already had the phone to his ear; "There aren't any blondes on staff tonight."

Altair felt his heart thud ominously in his chest, staring at those little lumpy bits in the drink. What was that shit? Where had it come from? Why hadn't he been watching?

People were starting to walk over, drunk and curious as to what was going on. Federico seemed to have sobered himself up enough to practice a little crowd control and keep them back.

A few seconds later the music stopped and the lights came on, the bouncer guarding the door to make sure nobody got in or out.

Altair found himself suddenly aware of how Desmond's body had gone limp and rag doll like, his hands twitching gently as he tried to steady himself against the PI's shoulder, breathing quick and ragged, his pupils unnaturally large in the brightness.

Claudia came over, petting at his head and back; "It's alright, Des, he called an ambulance, you just stay calm. Everything'll be okay."

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	43. Chapter 43

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**Chapter 43; First Date**

The police arrived just seconds before the ambulance, securing the scene and pushing back the crowd so the EMT's could get in and out without fuss.

Altair sat on a stool with his head in his hand watching as Desmond was loaded onto a gurney and wheeled out, and then he and Ezio were pushed into a police cruiser and driven to the hospital.

It was not, by any means, a pleasant experience. Even less so when they got to the hospital and had to sit in separate rooms and give official statements to strange officers with stern expressions and didn't get to actually hear any word on Desmond for almost four hours. And by that time Giovanni was there and so was Malik. The latter looking positively livid in rumpled jeans and the T-shirt he'd been sleeping in.

Malik was sitting self consciously in the corner trying to tug his shirt over the scarred stump of his left arm. Eyeing everyone who even so much as glanced at him as if he wanted to bite their face off.

Altair came out of the room he'd been sequestered in looking like a zombie. When he spotted Malik he shucked off his jacket and handed it over, letting the older man send him death glares as he turned the left sleeve partially wrong side out so it didn't flap around and become distracting.

Altair suspected that the assumed phone call had frightened Malik and he'd only pulled on his jeans and come running, completely oblivious to the fact he wasn't wearing something he deemed appropriate for outside the house and only after he'd gotten there did he realize he felt so naked.

Ezio went right to his father, letting him reassure himself his son was OK. They both came over once Giovanni was done and sat together for a while, until well after eight when Giovanni got fed up and demanded to see the head nurse.

The woman appeared a few minutes later looking insulted that she'd been pulled away from whatever it was she was doing. She insisted, in a severe commanding voice that she couldn't disclose any details about the young man in questions because they were not family members and the Power of Attorney wasn't there.

Giovanni almost got into a shouting match with her, but Malik gave him a look, and the older man grumbled as he took his seat again.

Malik got up a few minutes later, walked over to the ER's shiny double doors and politely let himself in.

Nobody seemed to notice.

Fifteen minutes later he came back out, calm and easy as you please, scrubbed an itch from his chin and started rattling off facts.

Altair was never more glad for Malik's nosy little habit.

"They did blood tests and it seems someone slipped him a very strong sedative. They pumped his stomach and gave him fluids. They've also given him a catheter so he won't be too happy about that when he discovers it. He's under observation and he'll likely be here until tomorrow sometime, but he was awake enough to be cranky as hell when I got in, so I think he'll be alright."

Altair felt like a giant weight had lifted from his shoulders and glittery specks danced before his eyes, his ears ringing.

"You can go, I'll stay with him." Malik yawned into his fist and patted his stomach. "Just point me toward the cafeteria before you leave."

Giovanni nodded; "I'll give you my number, when he wakes up let me know." He wrote it down on the back of a receipt he pulled from his pocket and handed it over.

Ezio stalled when his father put a hand on his shoulder and started to guide him toward the door; _"I… I'd like to stay if it's alright."_

Giovanni blinked at him, almost as if he wanted to protest._ "You haven't slept well in three days. I can bring you back when he wakes up."_

_"I'd rather stay…"_

Giovanni looked a little confused at first, then with a sigh he nodded and rubbed a twinge from his stomach; _"Alright, it's your choice."_

"I'll call you if I need anything."

He nodded in agreement and was opening his mouth to give his goodbyes when something startling happened. Something that had been nagging him all month finally clicked into place.

The day in the car when Ezio had said he had a crush on someone, a male someone who'd had a big impact on his life of late. Someone Ezio spoke of frequently, and had been spending a lot of time with lately.

And now, here Ezio was, three days sleepless, wanting to stay in an uncomfortable hospital waiting room and—

_It's Desmond, he has a crush on Desmond!_

In his head Giovanni was cheering that he'd finally been able to figure it out. He smiled, ready to declare that he had solved the mystery but his voice died in his throat. No… He'd wait. He'd keep this secret. Let Ezio figure out that he knew in his own good time.

"Be sure to eat something, and if you can find a place, at least take a nap, you look dead on your feet." He tugged Ezio's hair playfully and gave him a hug before he left.

Malik looked a little surprised watching the older man walk away, and flicked a tiny, microscopic… Overwhelmingly WICKED grin in Altair's direction; "Why don't you two go have breakfast together. You could finish that conversation you were having Tuesday… Bring me back something." It was by no means a suggestion.

Altair's mouth flapped open like a codfish but Malik was pushing him away with those dark eyes of his. He spluttered, stumbled as if he had been shoved and narrowed his eyes; "You're possessed."

Malik just waggled his fingers his eyes narrowed; "Have a good time, Princess."

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Breakfast, was not what Altair would have called the slop they were presented with in the hospital cafeteria.

The eggs were not real eggs. The pancakes were dry, and the low-fat-turkey-bacon was tough like leather.

He supposed, since he'd really been craving Taco Bell instead of this crap that his mind made it worse than it actually was. He prayed his mind was also making the silence between himself and Ezio more oppressive than it was in reality.

Just looking at him made Altair's chest tight. He did like Ezio, he did… but what would everybody else think?

Malik obviously thought it was funny or else he wouldn't have been pushing them together so.

"This food sucks." He picked up a lump of egg and let it drop back to his plate with a slight bounce.

Ezio snorted quietly and coughed into his shoulder trying to hide it. After a minute he lost the battle and bowed his head laughing under his breath.

Altair felt himself grinning for no reason whatsoever.

Ezio took a drink of his coffee and prodded his egg into the gravy to try and make it taste a little better. "Should we even bother trying to continue that conversation or is it already finished."

Altair sighed and propped his cheek on his gapped left fist. He shrugged but didn't really say anything.

"I don't want it to be finished."

He glanced up, catching Ezio's eyes and holding them. Absently stabbing his pancakes with his fork.

"I like you… And I don't regret what happened. It—it was nice." Ezio poked a little of the gravy covered egg into his mouth and ate it, more so he had time to think and word what he wanted to say carefully, than out of actual hunger.

"It wasn't that nice…"

Ezio snorted; "It was the first real kiss I've ever had, thank you very much. And if I say it was nice, then it was nice." He shoved more of the gravy egg mixture into his mouth just so he didn't have to speak. But there was a strange tingling sensation on his forehead and he glanced up, wiping his chin with his napkin.

Altair was staring at him with a somehow unreadable expression on his face.

Ezio cleared his throat and rubbed his shoulder on his jaw self consciously. "Why do you care what anybody else thinks anyway, you wore a bright red dog collar to a barbecue with the mayor and at least two dozen reporters."

The PI glanced away, with a sigh.

"I'm not looking for much, Altair. Really. I don't want anything physical—well, maybe like a kiss or two, that was kind of nice… But I don't think I can do sex. I've thought about it, but it usually ends up turning into something violent. It was only nice the once and I woke up in the middle of it and it took almost half an hour to clear my mind long enough to actually finish what had started, and it really wasn't as good as everyone made it out to be. It was really messy and I had to go back to bed without my underwear. And then I rolled over on myself in the morning and that wasn't—"

Altair was staring at him with wide eyes, his face the color of fresh blood. He'd gripped his fork so tight the plastic had snapped in two.

"What's wrong?"

Altair shook his head and his mouth opened and closed like a goldfish a few times before he found his voice; "Y-you… What… H-how—"

"You're shy like my father, aren't you." He propped his chin on his hand. "It's alright. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

Altair shook his head. He wasn't shy, he was anything but shy, but he knew that you just didn't talk about masturbation in public. In a hospital cafeteria least of all! "You really shouldn't talk about that here… People will think you're crazy or a pervert or something."

He didn't look convinced. "Why, it's natural, and you talked about it before—"

"It may be natural, but it's not something you discuss in a cafeteria!"

Ezio rolled his eyes. "I gave a guy a blowjob once in the kitchen of a—"

Altair laughed, a high helpless sound and cupped his forehead.

"I'm not asking for anything like that, Altair… I just—just want to get to know you without this professional pretense." He yawned; "And I'm not usually this blunt, but I'm exhausted and my common sense has gone down the drain. I can't sleep without thinking about you." He dropped his hand onto the table and plucked at that lonely looking little finger on Altair's left hand. "And it just depresses me to think that we both like one another but… I feel like this." He gave the finger a pinch and lowered his temple to rest on his elbow; "I can see what's going on but I'm separated from it all, and it sucks to be alone." He released a deep breath and let his eyes fall closed.

"What did that even mean?" Altair sounded like he was about to start laughing. "You sounded like Malik the weekend Chris came home from collage and got the three of us high and made us watch The Wizard of Oz with the sound turned off a-and—" He dissolved into a fit of giggles.

"Okay, that's enough of that." Malik apparently, tired of waiting for his breakfast to be delivered, had come looking for them. He gave Altair's head a little shove. "Go home. Go to sleep. You're both exhausted and insane!"

"But I was just getting to the good part!"

"Just go! You're both useless!"

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Altair wasn't aware of calling a cab, or knocking his fist against the big front window of the print shop until Hadiya came from the back room and buzzed open the door to let him in. All he knew was by the time he made it up the stairs and down the hall, his bed looked like a tropical oasis of crumpled cotton and flattened pillows. He kicked off his shoes and dropped across the mattress with a sigh, welcoming the weight that followed him. He shifted and rolled and tossed until he'd worn a comfortable groove in the memory foam then pulled the blankets over his head.

The weight beside him shifted and stretched and grumbled about the sun.

He was jolted awake a few times by unnatural motion of his bed but went back to sleep quickly enough.

The sun blazing in through his window like a laser beam pulled him from sleep, baking him and he wiggled out of his shirt, kicking the blankets off and popped the button of his jeans before he dozed again.

Sometime after three that afternoon Altair woke on his back with his arms up over his head. He didn't like sleeping in this position, he always ended up snoring or waking up with a dry throat when he slept on his back. This time he was somewhat lucky, he woke only to the ache of a full bladder and the hot, uncomfortable sticky feeling of an overheated body pressed intimately against his right side.

It was startling, realizing he wasn't alone in his own bed, and he lifted his head from the pillow, the back of his skull and neck feeling damp and hot. There was a pile of messy long hair on his chest, and a bare leg tangled in his sheets.

He didn't dare move at first, memories slowly dripping back like honey oozing from a jar.

Malik had practically thrown them out of the cafeteria and they'd found a cab, the driver obviously thought they were drunk because he'd asked a few times that they please not throw up back there.

Altair vaguely remembered climbing out of the cab in front of the print shop, and knocking on the front window like a zombie, pawing and groaning until Hadiya had peered out at them with a concerned scowl. She rolled her eyes when Ezio had pressed his mouth against the glass and puffed his cheeks out, looking like a starfish or a sea snail.

She'd held down the buzzer button under the counter unlocking the door and they had stumbled up the stairs.

Ezio had grumbled; "He did it on purpose… Let me stand out there pulling on it when it was locked…"

Altair didn't know what he was talking about, he was more interested in getting to his bed… What a wonderful bed.

It had happened naturally, letting Ezio roll under the blankets with him. Allowing the younger man to rub his face on the pillows and work a groove for himself into the mattress. He hadn't thought anything of it until now.

Ezio had, sometime while Altair had still been asleep, taken off his jeans, and thrown them at the window. They were in an angry heap draped over the radiator. And the young man's long pale leg was draped over his lap.

Almost as if he could feel the tension growing in the PI, Ezio shifted fractionally and pried his eyes open, peering up in a daze.

They stared at one another for a few minutes, and then Ezio became distracted by something shiny on the far side of Altair's bare chest. "What's that?" He lifted his head, his chin on Altair's shoulder, and curiously, with such an innocent expression on his face, tweaked the thing between forefinger and thumb—

Altair grunted and slapped a hand over the spot, lurching upward.

Ezio rolled back surprised and after a few seconds of rubbing his eyes he sat up startled; "It's attached?"

Altair nodded and tried not to look at him his face slightly pink.

"What is it? Did I hurt you?" Ezio pawed at his shoulder and tilted his head, staring. "Oh."

"I'm alright… Just don't do that again."

He nodded; "Is that the—uh—stupid thing you did with that woman from the barbecue?"

"Yeah." He groped off the bed for his shirt but couldn't find it, so he just crossed his arms awkwardly over his chest; "So, did you—did you sleep well?"

He nodded, his gaze turned inward, pulling the blankets closer around his waist. "I… W-where are my pants?"

Altair motioned toward the radiator.

"Can you shut the curtains please?"

"I don't have curtains." He stood and scuffed over, tossing the jeans lightly onto the bed beside the younger man, putting as much distance between himself and Ezio as he could.

"There are people living in that building right across the street, and you don't have curtains? What if they're perverts and look in on you!"

He shrugged; "All I ever do is sleep in here. If they get off on that kinda' stuff—"

"That's beside the point, you should have a little privacy."

"I do, in the bathroom. I have all the privacy I need in there."

Ezio sighed and pulled his jeans under the blankets with him, shifting and wiggling, arching his hips off the mattress—

Altair felt his mouth go dry and purposefully looked away. When he turned back Ezio was standing beside the bed with the hem of his t-shirt between his teeth, fighting with the zipper and the PI found himself staring at the gentle ripples of developing muscle.

Altair finally found his shirt in front of the closet atop another pile of clothes he snatched it up and yanked it on wrong side out in his haste then dropped onto the far side of the bed and picked at the dirty bottoms of his socks.

"What time is it?"

"About three-thirty."

Ezio rubbed his eyes again, blinking owlishly around, then sat back down on the bed. "Do you think Desmond's awake yet?'

"No, Malik would have called."

"Well, shouldn't we go back to keep him company?"

Altair scratched his head and dropped onto the opposite side of the bed. "We can go back around six and stay so Malik can come home."

He nodded and yawned again, then flopped backward. "Your bed is very comfortable."

Altair grunted and eyed him warily.

"Altair?"

"What?"

He hesitated, glancing to the side, then up into the older man's face; "Can… Can that conversation please not be finished?"

He sighed, right elbow on his knee, chin on his palm, and for a moment just stared down at Ezio with a pained expression on his face. "There isn't much left to say."

Ezio nodded, gaze turned inward, and with a sigh he rolled to his hands and knees on the bed and scooted to sit on his heels behind Altair's right shoulder, resting his nose there, their ears together. "Please?"

The word was warm, breathed into his skin and Altair turned his head fractionally, _just to look,_ he told himself, _only to look…  
_

It was frighteningly intimate. Something given freely and not taken, just a firm but gentle slant of Ezio's mouth against his own, and for the few seconds it was held he found himself inundated by a sensation he couldn't quite describe. All he knew was it was warm. And when Ezio pulled away, just a fraction of an inch, their breath mingled and their eyes connected, flicking up and down between the place they'd just shared and the darkness of pupils.

_Aw hell..._

It wasn't as difficult as he'd thought it would be, didn't leave him feeling like a pervert or as if he were taking advantage of the younger man. He didn't look into those hazel eyes and see a victim of brutality, he saw Ezio.

"Okay…" He swallowed past the tightness of his throat. "Okay."

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	44. Chapter 44

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_(**NOTE!** Sorry for the delay, there was an absolutely hideous storm here yesterday and that meant no internet *sob*__...__ Also, there aren't as many words in the update as I would have liked, this week was kind of hectic for me, but I hope you'll accept these chapters anyway. Something big is gonna happen soon, just warning you. *wink*__And, as an added bonus, I posted the first chapter of the Malik and Hadiya fic. It's called **Family Men**__.__)_  
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**Chapter 44; Cool Like Jazz**

Desmond looked ready to bite someone's head off when Altair and Ezio showed up later that evening. His hair was standing up all over, his eyes were puffy and bloodshot, and he looked like perhaps, he wasn't entirely conscious.

Malik was watching something on TV with an amused grin on his face, it looked like the _Bachelorette_ or something else that reeked of lust amplified by too much alcohol and over use of the word 'connection'. Altair was afraid to ask why he looked so cheerful, maybe the over confidant blonde asshole had been kicked off…

When Desmond's eyes landed on them, he could tell right away that Ezio looked different. He was smiling and wearing clothes that weren't his. Loose plaid pants and a gray hooded sweatshirt. But there was something not quite the same, it was the angle of his shoulders, the light in his eyes… Whatever had caused it though, was positive. Ezio shuffled to the chair Malik wasn't occupying and sat, pulling his feet up with him.

"You look better." He plucked at the blanket Desmond had pulled up tightly around his waist.

Desmond scoffed; "The food here is terrible." He glared hatefully when Altair walked past him grinning as well. "You let me get alcohol poisoned, you bastard."

Malik made an amused sound in his throat and smiled at Altair. "He doesn't remember a thing."

Altair sighed and came up to the side of the bed hands shoved deeply into his pockets; "You didn't have alcohol poisoning, Des, someone slipped something in your drink."

Desmond crossed his arms high over his chest and looked pointedly away with an irate expression on his face. "Nobody got near my drinks, I remember that at least. I'm careful… Unlike _you."_

"Aw, don't be like that!" Altair ruffled his hair, chuckling when the younger man's arms flailed, IV tubes twisting. "Here, I got something that'll make you feel better." He shucked off his bag and fished inside it, pulling out a box wrapped in copy paper covered with scribbled stick figures doing obscene things. "Sorry I couldn't give it to ya' on your birthday."

Desmond took it and glared at him like Oscar the Grouch. "I'm still mad at you."

Altair turned to look at Malik who was on his feet, stretching and scratching and yawning.

"There's a cab is waiting down stairs, all paid up to take you home. And you can leave the jacket on my bed."

The older man grunted in a pleased way. "Just in time for dinner too. If it wouldn't cause my head to spontaneously combust I might actually say thank you."

Altair rolled his eyes and gave Malik the finger as the older man left, then flapped his hands frantically at Desmond with wide eyes when he realized the package hadn't even been tampered with; "Come on! _Open it!_ Jeez, do you need a written invitation or something!"

Desmond seemed to be less angry and started carefully pulling at the paper, making sure none of it was ripped so later he could amuse himself with the cartoons Altair had drawn on it. He was so intent on getting the wrapping off in one piece he didn't realize what was under it until he'd unfolded the paper and laid it aside. Then he let out a little grunt and grabbed the box with both hands, his eyes wide. He just stared at it for a few seconds, then looked up at Altair with a shocked expression on his face. "Is this just the box to your phone with like, socks in it or some shit?"

"No. You passed that test, so you're on the bill now… Just don't break the thing it was expensive." He dropped into the chair Malik had vacated and wiggled his hips into a comfortable position.

Desmond had the box torn open and the phone out in less than fifteen seconds. Muttering to himself that it was so cool and wait until that bastard Shaun saw. He'd be so jealous.

Ezio chuckled and shook his head. "What time are you being released tomorrow?"

"Tenish." He made seesaw motions with his hand and dangled the phone's charger at Ezio; "Stick that in the wall beside you there. I want to check this thing out."

Ezio chuckled and stuck the prongs in the socket, but by the time he'd turned back around Desmond had slumped toward him and was utterly asleep.

"A-Altair?" Ezio's eyes were wide in alarm.

He grunted and glanced at him, face splitting in a grin. "He's a stubborn shit isn't he."

"What?"

"The type of drug he was given can take up to forty-eight hours to pass through your system. I'm surprised he was awake as long as that, but, like I said—He's stubborn." He yawned and glanced around. "Are you hungry? I can order a pizza or something."

After a moment Ezio nodded.

"Do you like anchovies?"

"Yeah, and sausage." And he saw the most miraculous thing happen… Altair turned slightly green and gave an almost dry heave like shudder. "What the hell was that?"

"A-anchovies? You… You actually _like_ anchovies?"

"Yes, I also like bacon, onions and tomato slices on my pizza, go figure." He poked his tongue out playfully. "And I didn't bring my toothbrush! Wanna make out?"

"Yeah, not so much... Bacon too? You do know that pigs eat where they shit, right?"

"And yet they taste delicious!" He rubbed his stomach and licked dramatically at his lips; "Mmmmm!"

"You're demented… And sick." He gave another full body shudder and plucked his phone from his pocket; "Maybe tacos would be better…"

"Not really. Unless you get the chicken you're still getting pork in your food, and nine times out of ten there's pork fat in the chicken too."

"You're not leavin' me much of an option here…"

"You really don't like pork."

"No, I don't… It's dirty and disgusting—And I was misfortunate enough once to see my adoptive mother take down a jar of pickled pig's feet in less than five minutes… I haven't been right since."

Ezio giggled behind his hand. "My uncle Mario made a whole roast pig when I was little for a company barbecue… I remember feeling dizzy watching the thing rotate on a spit because it still had its eyes."

"Ezio… You're gonna turn me into a vegetarian."

"Relax, I can handle a pizza without anchovies, bacon and sausage. I'm not spoiled to it." He flapped a hand at the older man dismissively; "But seriously, have them put tomato slices and onion on it. You'll love it."

Altair eyed him warily as he ordered it, and they didn't speak until the delivery man called Altair's phone and said he was waiting at the back door of the hospital being swarmed by zombie-like doctors.

Altair leaned over Desmond and pried his eyelids apart, peering in to see just how deeply asleep the younger man was, then said in a rather unassuming voice; "Desmond, I'll buy you dinner every day for the rest of this year if you open your eyes right now and look at me."

Since Desmond didn't open his eyes or in any way react, Altair released a pleased hum and motioned for Ezio to follow him; "He's out cold."

The nurses looked up and Ezio whispered an explanation to them as they passed. But as easy as it had sounded, meeting the delivery man at the back of the hospital, it was damned hard to actually find an exit that took them there.

It was entirely too maze like in there. Up two floors, down four floors, take the stairs then the elevator. Twice they climbed off elevators and walked quickly down corridors that were completely empty and silent, and Ezio found himself gripping Altair's sleeve because from every angle it felt like ghosts were groping at them out of the walls.

Five wrong turns later and they wound up on the maternity ward, and turned around quickly, and took the elevator to the hospital cafeteria, found a janitor and asked him for directions. A few minutes later they were wandering through the unseen bowels of the hospital, past conference rooms and kitchens and down hallways that looked like subway tunnels—Ezio swore he saw a train coming at them out of the gloom, and then, they pushed through big metal double doors and found themselves in some kind of a warehouse or loading dock. The big garage style doors were open and nurses and doctors and people in various uniforms stood around on elevated sidewalks with cigarettes and cups of coffee. They turned big dead eyes to the strange newcomers and watched them like bats hanging from the roof of a cave.

They got outside just in time to see the delivery man's car pulling out of its parking spot and heading toward the street.

"Hey!" Altair bolted and half a second later Ezio took off after him.

To an outsider, perhaps they did look like zombies from some unforeseen apocalyptic future running wild after a poor defenseless survivor, the doctors and nurses and other employees of the hospital sure did have a laugh at their expense.

The poor pizza man thought he was being mugged when, after waiting almost half an hour for some no-show asshole with what he was pretty sure was a fake name, some weirdo launches himself off the sidewalk and starts banging at his poor defenseless Jetta as he tried to drive away. He was about to slam on the breaks and give the idiot a piece of his mind, when a second idiot had come up on his passenger side with a wad of ones in his fist, shaking them like a drunk at a strip club.

It was so absurd, so unexpected, he stopped the car and stared out at the two strange men with an expression on his face that was purely and simply 'what the fuck'.

Fifteen minutes later, after Altair was able to convince the poor guy that he wasn't a mugger, and yes that was actually his name, he and Ezio plopped themselves down on a bench out side, just a stone's throw from the smoker's shed, and popped open the pizza box.

"I have never worked so hard for a fucking pizza in my life…" Altair grumbled, folding two slices together like a sandwich.

Ezio snorted and disappeared into the smoker's shed for a minute to abuse the vending machines for a few sodas when he returned Altair was still mumbling to himself about the sheer ridiculousness of it.

"So, we're having dinner and we've spent the whole day in one another's presence… Does this constitute a date?" Ezio was tearing the crust off his slices, leaving them on a napkin to eat later.

Altair shrugged one shoulder; "If this is a date then breakfast was one too… At least then we didn't have to it down like a coupla' lions."

Ezio rolled his eyes; "So, second date?"

"Sure, why not."

Ezio nodded; "My sister says there's a 'three date rule'… what does that mean?"

Altair choked, gagged, choked again and finally was able to force it down. He continued coughing for a few minutes and staring at Ezio through watery eyes, but after a moment was able swallow a couple gulps of soda and re-center himself. "That's—uh—that's a 'no sex before the third date' thing I think."

Ezio blushed and his eyes went wide.

"What? Is something wrong?"

"No… I just… I just realized my little sister has had sex, and I think I died a little."

"Your little brother probably has too, or will soon." Altair grinned deviously. "If the way Shaun complains about them is anything close to realistic, I mean… he was going nuts a while back because he walked in on them making out. I think he's just a big prude."

Ezio grunted and took an angry bite of his pizza; "He's also in denial of the mammoth sized crush he has on Desmond."

Altair was quiet for a few seconds, then giggled.

"What, you didn't know? And don't you ever do that again! Oh, my GOD, that was the creepiest thing I've ever heard!" Ezio tried not to smile as he scolded, but it was damn hard to manage.

"No, no… I had a feeling, but—" He shook his head; "Ah, this is just hilarious."

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It took a week really for it all to sink in.

In fact, Ezio was having dinner with his family the following Wednesday when it actually hit him that not only had he confessed his feelings to Altair… He'd lain around on the man's bed for hours, and simply out of habit and some strange sense of duty had come so close to actually giving in and letting his body do what it had been trained to do—

But Altair had given him a choice, and he'd chosen to stop, it had been such a relief to just have that choice. Nobody had ever given him a choice like that before… it either hurt too much to do anything but bite into the pillow and hope the bastard finished quickly, or bite into the pillow and try to convince himself he wanted it too… Actually having a choice between doing and not doing was—He didn't have words to describe it.

Wonderful maybe?

Fantastic?

Freeing?

"What on earth are you grinning about?" Claudia nudged him in the shin with the toe of her flat. Her expression though, said she probably already had an idea as to why.

"Oh, leave him alone…" Giovanni winked at her.

"But he and Petruccio have the same look on their faces and it's disturbing." She lifted her hands as if maybe she wanted to stretch his cheeks out like a cartoon, or pull his hair but was trying to make it look like she wanted to pat him lovingly instead.

"Don't bring me into this." Petruccio said turning his attention back to his meal, still grinning a little.

Claudia turned on him like a cat after a wounded little mouse, her face pinched into a scheming feline like grin. "Why don't you take off that jacket, Petruccio? Or are you trying to hide something under your collar?"

He tugged at it and glanced around guiltily.

Maria swatted at her daughter's shoulder gently; "Leave him alone. You've never tried to hide hickeys from us before?"

Giovanni sighed and bowed his head; "You're giving me gray hair."

Claudia rolled her eyes; "Like you've never had a hickey before…"

He mumbled something and Maria's ears perked up.

"Oh? What was that?" She lowered her lashes seductively; "I seem to remember you were very fond of my teeth when we were younger."

His eyes widened and blood rushed to his face.

Ezio tried to keep from laughing, but ended up just shaking his head and hiding his amusement by shoveling food in his mouth.

"Though, I do have to say, your father is very good with his mouth."

Petruccio spat water out of his nose, Claudia's mouth dropped open and a bit of food fell out and Ezio choked.

Maria blinked rapidly and scowled at her children; "What's so funny? I'm very serious."

"Mama, I don't think you know what you're saying." Petruccio's face was redder than his father's.

She was quiet for a moment then her cheeks went pink; "You're all so filthy minded! The marks, the MARKS! I had to hide them from my father or he would have castrated him!"

Giovanni covered his face and just bowed his head in defeat.

Maria squared her shoulders and lifted her wine glass, swirling the liquid around for a few seconds before she looked down her blushing nose at it and crossed her legs slowly beneath the table; "But he's good at that too…"

"Mother!"

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	45. Chapter 45

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**Chapter 45; The Three Date Rule**

Desmond was back at work on Monday, despite the fact Altair had told him to take it easy until Wednesday, he took up the entirety of Altair's couch and spent the majority of the day lounging there playing with his cell phone and sending Shaun smug looks.

Shaun was surprisingly silent all day, didn't even so much as scowl or sneer in Desmond's direction, and at noon he disappeared into the bathroom and came out changed into loose clothing and went up stairs to give Kalila, Saree and Gadil their Jujitsu lesson.

Ezio arrived a few minutes later he didn't look into the office, just ran past grumbling because he was late.

Altair contemplated pretending he hadn't noticed his arrival, but it was like trying to ignore a piece of cake sitting on the table in front of you… It was practically impossible.

He fought with himself for hours, reorganizing his files just to have something to do with his hands.

The clock ticked past the minutes so slowly they felt like years.

"This thing has Pacman?" Desmond's tone was quiet, as if he were speaking to himself, maybe he was. "Fuckin' sweet."

"I'm gonna go get some coffee… Answer the goddamn phone if it rings."

Altair knew Desmond could hear him, it was humid today so the boy's hair was a rat's nest and curled up around his ears, leaving those little amplifiers clearly visible, but he seemed to just ignore Altair in favor of guiding Pacman through his maze. It was probably for the best.

Altair mentally kicked himself as he trudged up the spiral staircase to the third floor kitchen. Hadiya was asleep on the couch with a half read manuscript on her lap and Zafir was sprawled under the coffee table with his head on a stuffed tiger's butt watching _Happy Feet_ with that droopy lidded expression children fighting to stay awake often wore, smeared all over his little face like jam.

Altair told himself he was only going to get some coffee and maybe a few of those cookies Malik kept on top of the fridge.

He commanded himself not to creep upstairs. He wouldn't. No way!

He would not go to the roof, he would not! He would go right back down to his office and sit there, maybe watch Desmond play Pacman… Hell, maybe he'd even play it himself.

He was not going to go up the stairs that was for sure. No way.

Nope, no NO.

Not going to open the door, nope!

Fifteen seconds later he was standing there partially hidden in the doorway watching.

Shaun was on his knees to be at a good combat height and Gadil was moving quickly, little face set in grim determination.

Kalila had her hands cupped around her mouth shouting encouragement to her brother, expression wide and jubilant. Saree was sitting very primly watching with an air of irritation, tapping her bare toes in the grass. And Ezio was laughing quietly to himself while he watched, almost as if he expected the little boy to kick Shaun in the crotch in a few minutes.

Altair decided he liked Ezio's eyes. They were such an intense shade of hazel that they often seemed to change colors depending on what he was wearing and the lighting. Today, in the balmy heat with his hair pulled back and everything around him so lush and green, his eyes looked blue, while inside they would look green, or brown depending on the time of day. It was fascinating.

Even more so when he realized he and Ezio had been staring at one another for close to three minutes and he was pretty sure he'd just spilled coffee down his front.

Shaun and Gadil had finished and they were all moving toward the door the Brit proclaiming in a loud voice that they'd done a wonderful job and he'd order a cheese pizza as a reward.

Altair stepped out of the way as the kids stampeded past him down the stairs and Shaun tried not to look him in the eye as he passed.

"I hope you're planning on sharing those cookies, Altair, or I may have to beat you up and take one." Ezio had climbed to his feet and was dusting off the seat of his pants.

Altair swallowed thickly, feeling like maybe his throat was swollen, perhaps his tonsils had grown back and were all inflamed and choking him again. He strode out onto the little lawn Malik had created on the roof and presented one between forefinger and thumb.

The younger man took it and shifted forward to peck him lightly on the cheek. "See? You can be nice when you wanna be."

"No I can't… I licked that one."

He paused with it raised halfway to his mouth; "You'd better be kidding."

Altair retained a serious expression for all of six seconds then smirked at him. He took a deep breath and let it out between pursed lips. "So… I-I was thinking—"

"Really? Is that something new for you?"

He rolled his eyes; "I was thinking maybe I'm a little hungry."

"Shaun's ordering a pizza. I'm sure he'll let you have some."

Altair glanced down at his shoes. "No… I mean like—like you and me… Out."

"Out."

"Yeah… real food, not pizza behind the hospital smoker's shack or powdered eggs and toast."

"Like a date… a _real_ date."

"Yeah." He scratched nervously at his neck.

Ezio shifted backward on his feet a little and glanced off to the side. "That's three dates…"

"So?"

"But what about—"

"It's not your rule, so it doesn't count."

He blinked; "My rule?"

"Yeah…" He jerked his chin toward the door; "Come on, we'll go down stairs. It feels like it's gonna start raining any second."

Ezio blinked and turned to the sky; "There aren't any clouds! It's not gonna rain… Why do you think it's gonna rain?"

Altair paused in the doorway and rubbed the scar on his arm; "I've got surgical pins in here, I can feel it, and why do you think Malik has been cranky all day."

"You can both feel it?"

He nodded and flipped his scarred hand; "Come on."

Ezio hesitated, then with a sigh gathered up all the shoes and socks lined up under the picnic table and loped toward the door, bumping it shut behind him.

Hadiya was awake by the time they made it back down stairs. She was yawning and stretching and watching with a sleepy look on her face while Gadil showed her a few moves, his brows arched dramatically, lips pursed, making action noises between his teeth.

Saree was walking around picking up her baby brother's toys and putting them back in the play room, mumbling bitterly to herself that she had to do all the work around here.

Kalila was climbing on Shaun like he was a jungle gym, Altair guessed her crush on Desmond had run its course and she'd moved on to someone else.

Zafir was sleeping on oblivious to everything, thumb between his lips.

Altair paused in the kitchen long enough to snag the package of cookies from atop the fridge and deposit his empty coffee mug in the sink, then he lead Ezio down the spiral staircase.

Desmond was sprawled across the couch on his stomach still playing video games. He might be there for hours before he noticed Altair was gone, so the PI shut the door again and turned to Ezio. "Are you allergic to anything?"

He shook his head; "Just hayfever in the spring and fall. Nothing serious."

"No food allergies?"

"Nope."

"I was thinking maybe French food."

Ezio blanched; "I… I'm not really dressed for French food, Altair. My parents get really dressed up to go to a French restaurant. And Claudia said fancy restaurants mean—"

Altair sighed and caught the younger man's chin lightly, grinning; "This isn't a French restaurant… I said 'French food'… Trust me, you're probably going to be better dressed than anybody else there." He ducked into his room and came back out with two jackets, he pulled his on and watched with an amused grin as Ezio politely refused his.

"Alright, but don't say I didn't warn you. It's gonna rain like crazy soon."

"I think I'll be OK."

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They walked almost a mile, Altair saying he wanted to enjoy the sunshine before the storm came, Ezio told him he was crazy… And then suddenly the PI motioned to a building with a red and blue awning, similar in structure and size to Malik's with a small grocery instead of the print shop. "This is it."

"A grocery? Do they like, sell French food out of the deli?"

"No, it's upstairs, come on."

The door was open and they met a young woman with glasses on the stairs. She waved amicably and whispered a greeting as they passed.

There was loud chatter from the top of the stairs, and when they made it Ezio was stunned to see a large room with sturdy looking steel tables and stools. It looked oddly enough like a classroom…

"Altair, what is this?" He was looking around curiously, noticing a row of ovens along the far wall.

"This, is a cooking studio… The owners came in last week and had Malik print up a bunch of fliers for them. You pay for the supplies and they show you how to cook it and you get a normally expensive three course meal for cheap." He picked up one of the colorful advertisements from a table by the door and leaned his shoulder against the wall while he examined it.

"We're gonna be cooking this stuff?"

He nodded, "Rosemary chicken with an orange ginger glaze plus appetizer and desert."

"Yeah?" He tilted his head to look at the flier.

"It sounds good." He sighed and put the flier back on the table, stepping back out of the way of a herd of young women in short shorts and tank tops as they came bounding up the stairs. "Well, do you want to stay or what?"

"I don't know…"

"Come on, I think you'll like it."

And he did like it, oddly enough.

The class was taught by an aging couple named Frank and Delilah, they both stood just under five feet four inches and were retired Chefs. They explained things clearly, and while Frank demonstrated Delilah walked around the room to offer her help when it was needed.

Altair was quiet, chopping vegetables into expertly tiny pieces, eyes intent as the short thin man at the head of the room explained each step while Ezio worked on cutting the orange slices and ginger and reducing them in a little sugar and sherry.

Ezio talked off and on with a few of the other people in the room and watched everyone working. There was an elderly Japanese couple at one of the first tables that moved silently around, seeming to read one another's thoughts as they chopped, grated, marinated and minced. He liked watching how they interacted, sharing meaningful glances and intimate little smiles.

There were a few young men in pairs, flirting shamelessly with a group of college girls who flirted back as if their lives depended on it.

And behind them was a rather tall, large man and his little elderly mother who seemed very chatty. And to their direct right was a pregnant young woman named Georgia and her partner Hailey who decided they wanted to become best friends with them. Ezio felt slightly embarrassed when Georgia leaned over and asked him how long he and Altair had been a couple. He wondered if it was so obvious just looking at them, and bumped his shoulder against the older man's to try and include him in the conversation and alleviate the awkwardness.

Altair joined in rather reluctantly, with short replies in a soft voice.

Ezio got the distinct impression he didn't like crowds.

The only problem that seemed to arise was that Altair became the first person out of five to burn themselves that evening, right on the sensitive crescent shaped scar of his missing finger putting their chicken in the oven. He let out a short, surprised little sound, waving his hand around, startling everyone.

Delilah bustled over to inspect it, tutting like only white haired granny ladies can do and made him hold his hand under cool water for a few minutes while she got the first aid kit.

The burn itself wasn't that bad, just a painful looking red line that slanted toward his palm.

"Want me to kiss it better?"

Georgia and Hailey cooed at them, and Little Mother nudged her son in the hip; "I told you they were… Now pay up."

Her son rolled his eyes; "Mama, don't be like that… I am not making bets with you."

She swatted him and mumbled something they couldn't really hear, but made them giggle anyway.

"No wonder Daddy left you… You're mean as hell."

Ezio stuffed a mushroom between Altair's teeth to keep him from laughing.

Appetizers were prepared while they waited for the main dish to cook, Ezio took it upon himself to make this and nudged Altair onto his stool, and Desert was delicate looking pastries Ezio made almost two dozen of so he could take a few home to his family.

There really was something fulfilling about cooking he decided, and aside from how messy it was, he enjoyed it quite a lot.

Dinner itself was a very casual experience. People moved around and talked and thanked Frank and Delilah, and Ezio ended up convincing Altair to have a glass of wine with him and saw first hand what low alcohol tolerance the PI had he was buzzed with only half a glass.

And then Ezio realized it was raining.

No, not only was it raining, the sky was practically seething, lightning flashing and jolting through the air like a serpent's tongue. His eyebrows arched upward and he turned slowly from the window to look at Altair.

"Surgical pins." He lifted his left arm with a smirk, still chewing; "They never lie."

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_Short chapter :P_

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	46. Chapter 46

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**Chapter 46; The Rules and Regulations of Dating Ezio Auditore**

Altair's jacket could stretch, Ezio realized. And it stretched perfectly over their heads like a tarp, it provided a little protection from the driving rain… At least until Altair's shoes became very very wet and he couldn't take it anymore and hailed a cab.

"I don't like it when my feet are cold." He said from the corner of his mouth, feet working rhythmically in his shoes, trying to warm them.

Ezio shoved a hank of his hair from his face and blasted air between his lips to clear rain from his mouth and upper lip. "I'm going to itch like crazy… Why didn't I listen to you before we left? And why didn't you bring an umbrella?"

"Do you see that lightning? You want to be walking around with a metal cage on your head?"

"No, but I'd really like to be _dry."_

The cold rain on their skin coupled with the heat fogged the cab's windows up, veiling everything. Water was standing on the street and traffic lights were blinking static yellow caution.

"Aw, that's great… The power's out too."

The print shop was dark but Altair could see Malik sitting at the counter looking through one of his weapon magazines looking unfazed. The older man waved at them smugly and pointed to the 'CLOSED' sign hanging on the locked front door then waved goodbye. Altair was tempted to go up stairs, then down stairs into the print shop just shake himself dog like in front of the one armed bastard simply to be spiteful. So he and Ezio wouldn't be the only ones wet and miserable.

And if Malik refusing to let them in the shop wasn't bad enough the electric door buzzer was dead because of the power outage so Altair had to fumble around for almost five minutes looking for his key, Ezio holding the soaking jacket up like a cape over them since the all weather door didn't have an awning over it… Altair swore bitterly to get one. "A big gaudy rainbow colored one with tassels and beads and shit that'll drive Malik fuckin' nuts." He wiped his nose on his arm and finally got the door open, holding it wide so Ezio could dart in and up the stairs. They left a nasty watery trail behind them all the way up the steps, and in the little entry room Altair shucked off his shirt and rang it out over Malik's Nikes, sighing loudly in a devilishly pleased way. "Ahhhh! There, now we're even."

Ezio cackled.

There was laughter and shrill cheering from upstairs and Altair could pick out Desmond and Shaun arguing.

_"I already own Boardwalk!"_

_"You do not, shove over!"_

Altair rolled his eyes and shoved the door to his room open. "I've got a flashlight somewhere, you can take a shower in here…" He pulled out his drawers one by one rummaging through them until he found his flashlight and checked to see that the batteries weren't dead. "There aren't any windows in there, so this is just about it." He handed the light over and went to his closet, toppling the neat stacks of clothes Malik had left and creating untidy piles as he searched for sweats and a t-shirt, presenting them to Ezio with a slight blush. "I—uh—I mean, you can…"

He wiped water off his chin and mumbled a quick thanks, holding the clothes away from himself so they didn't get wet and disappearing into the bathroom.

"There's a lock on the door… I'm gonna go clean up in the office bathroom."

"You have a bathtub in your office?"

"No, just a shower… It used to be my bedroom until I finished remodeling in here, Desmond's crashed out in there a few times… I'll—uh—"

"Altair, why is there a knife in your shower?"

"I'm paranoid sometimes."

"Ah… Okay—" He giggled; "You use the same shampoo as my sister."

"I'm going now;" He tried not to laugh as well; "You want this door locked too?"

"No. It's OK, thanks."

Altair gathered his own change of clothes and left.

Ezio, when he was honest with himself, would admit he could be just as much of a snoop as Malik. It was a learned thing, take what you can get because you may not have the chance later. He hadn't actually stolen anything in a while, and usually it was food. He tried to only take things that were offered as free anyway, especially when that slick sting of panic bade him to hurry and fill his pockets before they saw him. And on the odd chance that he actually took something without paying for it, he tried to convince himself he felt guilty, not relieved that he hadn't been caught.

It was never anything big, a packaged cupcake, gum. Stupid things really… Now though?

Now Ezio peeked into the cabinet beneath Altair's sink, and shined the flashlight in, startled when he came across a black tool chest with a 'Cox Box' emblem on the top, complete with a shiny silver lock. It was surprisingly heavy and when he held it carefully to his ear and shook it—Something inside started buzzing and rattling around.

He hid the box back under the sink and stepped quickly away from it, deciding it would be best to just get his shower over with.

He fiddled with the showerhead when he realized it was one of those big multi-setting things and scrubbed himself down with Altair's soap…

Altair's soap was green, a very pretty green Ezio thought, with lighter mint and white stripes and marbling through it. He scrubbed himself from head to foot and when he felt sufficiently clean shut the water off and dried himself with the towel he'd pulled from the little closet at the end of the tub. The t-shirt Altair had given him was a little big, but he slid into it anyway, then rolled his underwear in the towel and stomped on it a few times hoping to squeeze the water out, they were still damp when he was finished and he didn't really know what to do with them… Or with himself.

Putting on a pair of Altair's sweats wasn't new. He'd worn a pair to sit with Desmond at the hospital the week before because his jeans would have been too uncomfortable… But he'd had underwear. Putting on those pants without his underwear? His privates rubbing against cloth that Altair's may ha—

"Hey, Ezio, are you alright in there?"

"Yeah… I—I just don't have any shorts."

"So? Rinse yours out and you can put them over the radiator, its gas fired, it'll have them dry in an hour."

It was slightly absurd to think about, but he gave himself a shake and pulled the sweats on.

It was eerily dark in Altair's room, the clouds had thickened and the storm was seeming to grow in intensity.

Altair was scrubbing his head with a towel and humming quietly to himself. When he straightened his hair was standing on end in a few places and he was still pink in the face from the wine. His eyes were sharp though, and his gaze caught the younger man's and didn't seem to want to let go.

Ezio's heart leapt into his throat and for a few seconds all he could do was stare into Altair's eyes and think that he looked slightly nervous. It wasn't a comforting thought that Altair was worried. It made the tension in the room seem thicker.

What was he supposed to say? Was he supposed to do something? He didn't know how this worked. "So… What do we do now?"

Altair's eyebrows curved downward curiously but he didn't say anything.

No, of course he couldn't be helpful. Ezio Crossed his arms protectively over his chest and drummed his fingers on his elbows for a few seconds. "Are there like, terms and conditions or rules—"

"Rules for what?"

Ezio motioned between himself and the older man with his index finger and knotted his arms again looking off into the corner then back to Altair's face.

And the PI smiled. An amused curl of his lips and with a sigh he dropped to sit on the bed and propped his jaw on his fist. "Do you want there to be rules?"

"W-what kind of rules?" He didn't like the images it brought into his mind. _'no screaming' 'no moving' 'you will address me as Master, or Lord'…_

Altair shrugged and rubbed his neck, "Rules like what you're comfortable with and uncomfortable with… Your rules." He motioned to his room; "The only rule I have is don't let Malik in here with bleach. When he cleans he goes crazy with it and the smell makes me sick."

Ezio blinked at him; "S-so they're _my _rules? Things you can't do?"

Altair nodded. "It's all up to you."

Ezio let out a long breath and approached the bed slowly, sinking down to sit beside the older man.

Altair pinched his lips between rigid fingers and looked at Ezio with a curious, somehow longing look on his face; "What do you want from me, Ezio… What am I to you?"

He looked taken aback, he hadn't expected to be asked that. He didn't have an answer really. He could feel his thoughts flailing around frantically and his mouth flapped open and closed a few times helplessly. He'd only had the barest prospect of a relationship between himself and Altair for less than a week, was the PI already reconsidering it? "I-I like you. You're… You're funny and smart and—"

"No, when you look at me, what do you see? When you think of me what do you feel?"

He looked to the side uncomfortably, his face slowly growing pink. "I feel warm when I think of you—"

"Warm like when you think of kittens or puppies and shit?"

"No… sometimes I feel warm like—like down there." His hands slid up his thighs. "And sometimes when I think of you I just feel really calm." He nibbled his lips before he continued; "I haven't ever been in a bed with another man, other than my father and Leo, and NOT had sex, Altair… I slept right here beside you for hours the other day and I didn't feel pressured, I didn't have nightmares, I was relaxed and comfortable and it felt GOOD."

"You also dry-humped my ass in your sleep…"

Ezio's face was suddenly bright red. "W-what?"

"I'm pretty sure I woke up once or twice and you were grinding against my ass."

"You liar!"

Altair rolled his eyes; "I would know if someone was rubbing themselves against me." He chuckled; "Don't get me wrong, I don't mind… I'd just like a little warning first—"

"I was not _rubbing_ myself on you!" His brows drew down accusingly; "Maybe you were rubbing against me!"

They were quiet, staring at one another then Ezio's expression became instantly mortified and his eyes widened; "Wait… W-what do you mean you don't _mind."_

Altair blinked at him for a few seconds, scratched the end of his nose and began shifting awkwardly. "Well… I mean— If you…" he sighed and started again; "If it was your idea… If you were in charge—" He sighed in frustration; "This is what we're trying to find out." He made a hand gesture like he was setting a box onto the bed beside him. "Now, keep goin'… What do you see when you look at me?"

He sat his jaw, gave his head a shake and forced himself to continue; "At first, when I looked at you, I was kind of overwhelmed… I thought you were perfect, but when I came here with Desmond the first time, I started to see that you weren't… The more time I spent over here getting to know you, the more—the more _annoying_ things I saw."

Altair blinked in confusion; "Annoying? You think I'm annoying?"

Ezio shook his head; "No, it's not that, it's just some things."

"Like what?" He dropped backward onto the bed rubbing his face; "What about me annoys you so much." He laced his fingers together over his chest and looked up at Ezio seriously.

Ezio shifted, crossing his legs and scratched at his knees. "Well… Curtains. Why don't you have curtains in here!"

Altair just shrugged.

"It's annoying that you don't have curtains in here. Anybody could just watch you through the window! What if you're—What if you want to—" He made a noise in his throat and his eyes slid down the length of Altair's body.

Altair, as if he could read the young man's mind chuckled in the back of his throat, a light amused sound; "I don't do that in here… I think it's kinda gross to masturbate in bed… I do it in the bathroom."

"What if someone walks in on you?"

"They know better… If I'm in the bath they stay away—Malik walked in on me once a couple years ago, he won't even open the door anymore, just knocks and waits for me to let him in." He laughed. "You should have seen the look on his face." He mocked it, a twisted mash of wide eyes, horror and disgust.

Ezio chuckled, buzzed Altair was kind of fun.

The PI wiggled around a little and crossed his arms under his head, nodding at the ceiling, wincing when lightning flashed brightly from outside. "Alright, curtains… What else annoys you?"

Ezio swallowed and looked around a little then squared his shoulders and looked Altair right in the eye; "I don't like the way you let Desmond and Shaun push you around."

For half a second Altair looked visibly shocked. "What?"

Ezio waved his arms; "He manipulates you into thinking Shaun's the bad guy—Did you know he's just as bad to Shaun? He makes really rude red-head jokes and belittles him daily. And he plays dumb so you'll do the work for him."

"He doesn't manipulate me—"

"Oh, no? Of the last five times I've come here four of them he's been sitting there playing Tetris on his phone when he's supposed to be doing paperwork… And at the end of the day when he says he couldn't finish it YOU do it for him! Every day I come over here Desmond somehow gets you to buy a really expensive meal for him. He can afford his own food! He moonlights at a bar, he gets over four-hundred in tips a week! Trust me, I've gone to see him with Claudia… The last ten times I've come here I haven't seen him once pay for a meal. Or even so much as offer."

"I don't mind buying him lunch every so often—"

"How many times a week do the three of you go out for lunch?"

Altair was quiet, thinking, then glanced off into the corner ashamed.

"See?"

"It's not that bad."

Ezio rolled his eyes and propped his jaw on his fist. "Fine…" he rubbed his eyebrows and changed the subject, trying to ignore how irritated he was becoming. "Your socks."

"My socks."

"Yes. I can understand liking socks, but for God's sake, you don't just _like_ them… You've got four drawers _full_ of nothing but _socks!"_

"You looked in my drawers?"

"When you were sick I-I was just picking up a little… To be helpful… And you have way too many socks!"

"You can never have too many socks."

"There has to be a line, most of them are really nasty! J-just look at the ones you're wearing now! They're filthy on the bottom!"

He lifted his knees and crossed one ankle across his thigh, looking. "It's not that bad, I just haven't mopped."

"Altair… There is a difference between socks a little dirty because you haven't mopped, and socks that hold the shape of your foot when you take them off! _Seriously!"_

He shrugged, pink in the face; "I like socks…"

Ezio scoffed. "I like _shoes_ but I don't have a hundred pair!"

Altair's brows scrunched; "Well what about you! What if something about you irritates me?"

"What irritates you?"

Altair's mouth flapped a few times and he raised himself onto his elbows; "You… You're… You're pushy!"

Ezio stared at him for a few seconds with a rather unamused look on his face. "Is that it?"

"No!" But he didn't say anything else.

Ezio sighed deeply and lowered his chin to his chest, fingers finding the hem of Altair's shirt and pulling on it. "You treat me like I'm broken, Altair… And that—that hurts."

And just like that the mood changed. Altair sighed remorsefully and dropped back against the pillows with his arms out to his sides.

Thunder crashed and rolled and roared overhead, shaking the very building like a tinker toy.

"You look at me one minute like maybe you want to… want to touch me, or kiss me again, and the next you look at me like you pity me. You look at me as if all you can see is this." He brushed the pads of his fingers against the scar on his mouth. "Like all you see is what happened to me… Do you know how self conscious that makes me? It makes me feel broken when you treat me like that, and I know I'm not… So—" He gave the PI's shirt a little tug; "—I'm asking you. Please, PLEASE… If you like me, even just a little bit, even just as a friend—Please stop treating me like I'm going to fall apart any second."

"Ezio—"

"That's all I want… I just want you to treat me normally. I want you to trust that I'll tell you when too much is too much and when I'm uncomfortable… I want you to trust me."

Altair's brows had bunched together and his expression was almost pained.

He sighed and looked right at the PI, "I like you, Altair. And I'm not saying that lightly… It scares me a little, what I feel when I look at you, or when I know you're looking at me. I'm afraid of what it means."

His voice came out hushed, a hand finding the crease of Ezio's left hip pocket and tracing it. "What do you feel?"

"I feel like, maybe… maybe I want you to touch me. I-I think about you sometimes and I start—" He glanced uncomfortably at the front of his pants. "—I start thinking that I might want to touch you." He swallowed; "And I don't care what anybody else says…" He gave a little shiver and slowly lowered himself to the left, curled against Altair's side.

It was quiet for a long while, and Altair just laid there staring at the ceiling, feeling the younger man pressed to his side, his breath warm—

"Also… I don't like your deodorant."

Altair raised his head; "You don't like my _what?"_

"It makes you smell like an old man."

Altair just stared down at those hazel eyes for a few seconds. After a second he sighed and thumped his head back to the pillow. "I smell bad?"

"It makes you smell older than my father."

He chuckled in a humiliated way and rubbed his eyes. "Okay, fine… I have to put up curtains, I can't keep letting Desmond push me around. No more treating you like you're broken… And I have to find new deodorant because I smell like an old man."

Ezio wrapped an arm over Altair's stomach and rubbed his face in his ribs. He was amused when the PI gave a violent ticklish jerk and prodded him a few times until he was sure the mood felt lightened enough that laying there holding one another wasn't awkward.

The silence was light, just living momentarily in one another's presence, not even the storm seemed to bother them now.

"Any more rules?"

Ezio took a deep breath and nodded; "Yeah, but they're basically just things that make me uncomfortable."

"Alright, what are they?"

"My hair… Don't pull my hair… And don't try to get too close, I don't like feeling crushed."

"What constitutes being crushed? I'm assuming since you're not complaining about this, that it's OK." He indicated their current position with a flick of his eyes.

"Yeah, this is OK, but other stuff… I don't like other stuff."

"Okay, Ezio, I'm not psychic. You'll have to use a little more detail… Right, why don't you do it to me? Show me."

Ezio raised his head looking panicked; "What?"

"Clothes on, just, like… Show me what's not OK." He wiggled until he was flat on his back and folded his hands behind his head. "I won't touch you."

Ezio slowly, feeling shivery and not quite awake, raised up into a sitting position. After a few seconds of breathing, he shifted, placed one hand on either side of Altair's head and leaned close to him, their noses almost brushing. "Don't get in my face when you're not calm… I can't stand it, the tension just smashes me… I bit a guy once for doing that."

Altair had to press his chin close to his chest and shove his head farther into the pillows to focus on the younger man. "Okay… Yeah, I agree. I don't like people in my face either."

"And if I'm like, lying on my stomach, or asleep like that, don't get too close… They always just seemed to— it makes me feel helpless and I don't like it."

"Okay… But I'm giving you open invitation. I-I kinda like having… having it done that way."

Ezio looked disgusted for half a second, then shook his head; "Y-you mean you've let—"

"It really depends on the guy's attitude, but yes. If he knows what he's doing and isn't just looking to get off, it can feel really good." He'd gone pink again.

Ezio looked confused.

"You don't really know much of anything about relationships, do you…"

He shook his head; "I'm not proud of it, but I only know sex… Intimacy is something entirely new to me, I've figured that out lately just watching how my parents interact."

"Okay… Well—" He cleared his throat and his brows scrunched down, hand coming up to press at Ezio's hip. "Roll over."

He looked positively humiliated. "Why… This is weird."

"It won't be weird in a minute. Trust me."

He was uneasy. The anxiety was like a physical condition as he settled, laying stiff and straight as a board on his stomach beside the PI.

He watched Altair intently as the PI shifted and rolled onto his own stomach, arms around a pillow he used to prop his chest on.

They looked at one another for a few minutes before Altair lowered his voice, nibbling a crease in his sleeve.

"You can have sex without intimacy, and you can have intimacy without sex, alright?" he shifted a little and scratched the corner of his mouth; "The way I understand intimacy is something tender and simple and loving. I don't really have a full grasp on it because I've never really had it myself either, but I've watched people… Malik and Hadiya, everything they do is intimate. The seating arrangement at meals specifically, the wife traditionally is supposed to sit at her husband's right hand, you've eaten up there, you've seen… she sits to his left. She does things for him without even thinking, and he does things for her as readily and as casually as he does them for himself… They love one another so much they're like one person. What they make me think intimacy is, is complementing one another in everything. Being strong when the other can't be, or just being defenseless all at once. It's the gross stuff… Going into the bathroom when they're on the toilet or in the shower, or holding their hair back when they're sick. Or ch-changing bandages when they're too sick or hurt to do it themselves." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly; "—And it's weird, but I think watching someone brush their teeth is intimate. I also think sleeping in the same bed with someone is intimate." He sighed, and after a moment's thought reached over and bumped Ezio's knuckles with his own. "I don't want to push you into anything… And if we're going to do this. If you want us to get to know one another in a non professional manner, then we're gonna need these rules." He felt himself smile a little when Ezio's little finger seemed to strike out suddenly and curl around his own. The young man was right, that finger did look lonely.

Ezio nodded and took a deep breath then let it out, refocusing himself before he continued; "I don't like feeling crushed…"

"Is this OK?" He jiggled Ezio's hand to indicate their positions.

After a second he nodded; "Just don't get on top of me."

"Alright."

"And my neck… I don't like my throat being touched. I don't like angry grabbing at the back of my neck either, but just laying your hand there's OK. Don't grab my legs or pin my hands or arms… And don't sneak up on me, I don't like being startled like that."

"I don't like being startled either."

"I don't like small spaces. I feel caged, and I can't stand the sound of duct tape ripping off the roll… And if I say 'No' I mean no, I'm not one of those people who says 'no' but means to keep doing it. If I say it I mean it."

Altair looked at him for a few seconds without a readable expression on his face, then nodded. "What do you like?"

"The kissing. I liked that a lot." He gave Altair's hand a shake. "I like this too… And having dinner with you… That was a lot of fun. I'd heard Petruccio talking about going on dates with his girlfriend, but it was a lot different than he made it out to be."

The PI was all red once more, a rather pinched grin on his face. "What did your brother say happened on a date?"

"Going to eat or shopping or to a movie."

"How old is your brother?"

"Seventeen."

"Right… He and his girlfriend probably spend most of the time making out."

"Oh…" He looked uncomfortable. "I don't like kissing with tongues…" He shivered visibly, his expression reading simply; _'yuck!'_

"Well, I'm just assuming here, but they probably did it wrong."

"You can do it wrong?"

Altair nodded, his face serious. "I've had it happen… It's kinda gross."

"When?"

"Years ago… The last guy I slept with." He scratched his shoulder nervously and glanced around as he continued; "We were… Well, we were having sex and he just suddenly stuck his tongue in my mouth. It was so awkward we didn't even finish… I just got up and left."

"Then how do you do it right?"

"I can't really explain it… I'll show you one day if you want."

Ezio seemed to hesitate for half a breath. "W-will you show me now?"

Altair just stared at him for a few seconds, unblinking, then with a quiet sigh, he rolled onto his back, pulling until Ezio glanced around anxiously and crawled over him, practically on top of him, the older man's legs parted just enough that their groins were pressed together.

Ezio tried to push the warmth that bubbled in his stomach away and leaned on his elbows at either side of Altair's head.

"First, relax… And if it gets uncomfortable we'll stop." Altair was already uncomfortable but was fighting like hell to keep from showing it. He was trying, really he was, but it still felt a little weird looking at Ezio and accepting that feeling of attraction. He'd tried to overlook it for the better part of three months, pushed it away like soured spinach. He'd battled to convince himself it was just madness. That feeling the way he did made him a pervert, lusting after a young man who'd spent the past nine years being raped and violated. He'd tried to make himself believe that he was no better than those men who'd attacked the Ezio… And now, here he was telling himself it was alright to act on those impulses, that it was OK because Ezio wanted it. They were two consenting adults, there were rules, they were being smart. He LIKED Ezio, a lot… Fuck what everybody else thought.

It started as just a little thing, a brush of lips, their foreheads pressed together, Ezio's body still tense. Then Altair's mouth shifted a fraction, his hands lifting to rest lightly on the small of the younger man's back, fingers loose and gently kneading. He seemed to ease into it with his whole body, shifting the attention of the kiss to Ezio's lower lip while those fingers moved higher, rubbing just below his shoulders, and Ezio had to admit that there was something nice about this… Gentle, coaxing, and somehow explorative in the way they moved together. It was different, different and not at all what he had expected.

Altair's mouth was soft, warm, and there was no insistence to it, no insinuation of a tongue between his teeth. It was very wave like. Flowing back and forth, give and take, and before Ezio was aware of anything more than a growing warm haze in the back of his mind, his fingers were delved deeply into Altair's hair, his tongue had brushed against the other man's, the PI's legs had fallen open just a little more, creating a perfect ledge for Ezio's crotch to rest on— And almost as soon as he'd realized it his hips snapped forward and Altair's head dug back into the pillows.

In an instant Ezio was terribly aware of their positions, that his pants felt a tight and there was a firm lump beneath him that was all Altair.

It was a little frightening, becoming so abruptly conscious of the fact that Altair was a fully functioning male, he'd known it on some level, but this was very real proof of it. Yet, even as part of his mind warned him that he was in a dangerous predicament and if he wasn't careful he'd end up hurt, the other part of his mind was telling him that this was OK, it wasn't that scary because Altair was the one on his back. Altair's hands weren't grabbing, weren't restraining. There was no force, no dominance. It was just the two of them.

And then Ezio realized what this meant; "You… you would let me do that to you?" It came out between heaved breath, and was so genuinely surprised Altair just stared up at him for a few seconds speechlessly.

"Yeah…" He swallowed past the tightness in his throat, his lips feeling over sensitive, his tongue alive in his mouth. "I—I'm OK doing either."

"You'd… to me?"

"Only if you were ready." His tongue pulled at his lower lip again and he had to swallow to get it back into his mouth. "And you're not ready for that."

Ezio gazed down at him with a strange expression on his face. Somewhere between reverence and need, his eyes shining in surprise; "W-when you look at me… What do you see?"

Altair took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh, hand lifting slowly to brush his fingertips against the younger man's jaw; "Strength… I see someone who is a hell of a lot stronger than I gave him credit for. I see someone who's a little pushy. Who is still really innocent despite everything that's happened to him… And as much as it embarrasses me to admit it, I see someone who over the past two months has caused me to take about fifteen cold showers… And as soon as I can get up, I'll probably take my second today."

"W-what if I don't want to let you up?"

Altair swallowed, intrigued; "Then I guess I'd just lay here until it went away."

"What if I don't want it to go away?" He swallowed, his whole body trembling. "What if I wanted to just… u-until—" His hips rocked hesitantly, expression almost pained and unsure.

Altair found a bit of Ezio's hair and brushed it behind his ear, his eyes distant. "That… That'd be okay too…"

Ezio swallowed thickly, feeling somehow breathless. This wasn't a dream, wasn't touching himself to his imaginings… This was something big, this was real. This was very, very real, and he wanted it. He wanted to feel that hot throb of orgasm rocketing through his body—But at the same time he was shaking, those ugly nightmarish memories seething in the back of his mind, boiling just below the surface ready to rear their demonic heads and ruin the calm of the moment.

"But before you make any decisions, I want you to think… Are you doing this because you want to… Or because you think _I_ want you to."

Ezio could feel the tremors running up and down his arms, into his legs and back, and his stomach was beginning to ache. "Y-you won't be angry if I stop?"

Altair shook his head; "No, I won't be angry."

"Altair?"

He hummed, eyes still focused on Ezio's face, the emotion in his eyes, the feel of his body pressed so close to his own.

"Altair, I'm not ready for this."

"Okay." His hands kept petting lightly against the younger man's jaw, neck and shoulders. "What do you want me to do? I can leave you alone for a few minutes if you need it."

He shook his head and lowered his brow to rest against the PI's chest, relaxing against him as if he wanted to curl up and sleep there like a shivering cat or something. "No, just—just keep doing that. Let me stay here for a while."

Altair ran his fingers through that long damp hair, combing it this way and that until it lay evenly fanned over the young man's back, breathing in his scent and just enjoying the closeness.

"I think I like this…" Ezio's voice was muffled.

"Hmm?"

"We could have had sex but we didn't… I like that we didn't… That we don't have to." He was quiet for a few seconds; "This feels good, thank you."

He chuckled a little; "You're welcome."

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	47. Chapter 47

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_(Hey, guys! I'm so sorry there wasn't an update last week, but we had a big scare. The house caught on fire! *TERROR* It wasn't bad, but there's a big hole in the roof now and it scared the mortal shit out of me... So only two chapters this week. *sad face* And the BIG thing I was telling you about? *shifty eyes* Yeah, it's happening. BUT, there are quite a few more chapters in **Family Men**! Enjoy! And there will be more chapters next week, hopefully a nicer word count as well! *hugs you all*)_

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**Chapter 47; Morning Ritual**

Giovanni was not at all pleased when Ezio called at almost nine that night.

"Where are you, I've been worried sick!" He collapsed into a chair bent double holding his stomach.

"I'm OK, Papa… I—I went on a date and now that the storm's over we're watching a movie."

And Giovanni's anxiety slowly melted; "A date?" He grinned slightly; "You and D— You and HE went out on a date?"

"Uh-huh… We went to this cooking studio and made rosemary chicken with an orange ginger glaze."

Giovanni heard soft laughter in the background and he sighed. "Did you have a good time?"

"Yeah, we did actually. It was nice… He burned his hand putting it in the oven but it wasn't as bad as I thought it was."

Desmond always had been a bit of a klutz, he chuckled and mentally rubbed his hands together. "You two weren't caught in the rain were you?"

"Yeah, unfortunately… We both got soaked, and then he couldn't find the key to get us inside—"

Ezio started laughing and said something in a titter Giovanni couldn't really understand, but it sounded like, _'maul sick dick face wood ents hope in gore snoozing rainbow fawning with castles and peed shawl over tits'_

"—And then he rang his shirt out over his shoes."

Giovanni had no idea what he'd just been told, but, simply because it had sounded funny as hell, he chuckled; "You didn't happen to have alcohol at this cooking class, did you?"

"Only two glasses of Merlot with dinner."

"Do you want me to come and get you?" He slowly eased back in his seat.

"I… I'd kind of like to stay here tonight, if that's OK with you. We were going to watch movies now that the electricity's back on."

He swallowed thickly. "Are you sure, Ezio? You don't think you're moving a little fast?"

"I wasn't sure at first, but we talked about it… I'm not ready for anything physical other than a kiss now and then—"

"Kiss? You're kissing now? What happened to handholding and shoving one another in the mud?" Giovanni ticked one off for himself, throwing in a hint like that, he would have to find the photos of Ezio and Desmond covered in mud gripping one another's hand like their lives depended on it and leave them lying around just to rub it in. Ezio would never believe he'd simply figured it out on his own.

He laughed; "There's that too, the kissing is just an added bonus."

Giovanni hummed and after a moment's hesitation, he sighed; "Alright… But you call if you need anything—and I do mean anything."

"I will."

They said rather elongated goodnights and see you in the mornings and Giovanni said he hadn't even been this anxious the first night Ezio had stayed away from home as a child, then they repeated the goodnights and the call was ended.

Altair was staring stunned at the side of Ezio's head when the young man flopped back against the pillows. "Your dad's really OK with this?"

"I could practically hear him planning on slipping condoms in my wallet."

Altair chuckled; "At least he didn't leave a box on your pillow like a fuckin' mint."

"What?"

"Malik thinks he's funny."

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Ezio woke up warm, almost hot, lying tangled with Altair. For a few seconds he just stayed there, eyes closed, relaxed, enjoying the peace of the moment, even if he was sweating from the press of the other's body against his own.

He hadn't had good dreams, and had woken up in a panic shoving at Altair and trying to crawl out of bed only to get twisted in the sheets which in his still dreaming mind had been hateful hands and bindings.

It had taken almost an hour and a half to calm down, and ninety more minutes where he seriously considered calling his father and going home. Even then he was still trebling and sick to his stomach, too on edge to even think about going back to the bed, forget about actually sleeping, so they'd gone upstairs and sat on the couch for a while, Ezio sipping slowly at a tall glass of ice water, hands practically vibrating. Why had he thought this was a good idea? The whole building felt alien, foreboding and ugly in the dark.

What if something happened to his family? What if his house burnt down and everyone was killed? What if this building burned down and he died? What would happen then? He'd never see his family again—

And when Altair had tried to help, tried to offer a soothing embrace he'd snapped and growled that he was fine, he wasn't broken, he didn't need to be fixed, he could take care of himself—And Altair had said in a somehow knowing voice;

"I know you can take care of yourself… But that doesn't mean you should have to all the time."

They'd sat close for a while, Ezio letting the older man rub gentle circles between his shoulders and he slowly was able to breathe through the fear.

Altair had asked quite a few times if he needed anything, or if he wanted to call his father, but Ezio had shaken his head.

"This is just like riding the train that first time… I have to prove to myself that I can do it or I'll never be able to, I'll get complacent, only doing what doesn't scare me, and God forbid, if something should happen, like that creep on the street the other day, I'll just shut down like I did at the Laundromat. I won't know what to do…" He swallowed thickly; "I can't let that happen again. It was horrible and I—I can't handle that feeling again… So if I have to do a few things that frighten me, then so be it."

"Okay, but maybe you should ease into it, just throwing yourself at something that scares you is just as bad as ignoring it… Think of it like a virus, you've got to build up your immunity first."

It had made a lot of sense, and after he'd finished his water, he'd let Altair lead him back to the bed. They talked quietly for a while, until Altair had fallen asleep and then Ezio had just watched him. The steady rise and fall of his chest, the twitch of his eyes beneath his lids… And before he'd known it, he was asleep too.

And now, he had his head on the PI's chest, and sometime in the night they'd both tried to roll over and he had managed to wedge one leg between Altair's the other spread toward the far edge of the mattress. And he was pretty sure he was lying on the older man's right arm and leg… And Altair was talking in his sleep.

He was mumbling, his tongue loose and slurring the words, but Ezio understood it well enough; _'But I can't eat it… M'eyes're fallin oooout…'_ then he seemed to chew his tongue and the fingers of his left hand flexed open and closed a few times. _'I hate apples…'_

Ezio couldn't help but giggle, and Altair's eyes popped open.

He opened them wide blinking rapidly for a few seconds, lower jaw pulled down, mouth stretched into a long thin inverted 'V' shape, then gave his head a little shake and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

Ezio held completely still, feigning sleep, and tried to ignore the fact Altair scratched himself before he relaxed again.

Then—

"Hey… E-Ezio, I can't feel my arm… Or my leg."

He grunted sleepily but didn't move.

"Aw, come on, I know you're fakin' I'm serious, I can't feel 'em."

"You're a big leech you know that?" He shifted and untangled himself from the other man, then watched, amusedly as Altair tried to stand up… And couldn't.

"What the fuck!" He moved his shoulder as if he was trying to rotate his arm, but it wouldn't so much as budge.

Ezio's brows compressed and he reached over with hesitant fingers and plucked at Altair's thumb. "Can you feel it?"

"No! W-what the fuck." He grabbed his own wrist and lifted his arm, eyes going wide when it flopped around lifelessly. "Holy shit—"

"Ah, it's asleep! That happened to my arm once! I feel asleep on it and when I woke up I couldn't feel or move it, it was really scary." He started rubbing Altair's bicep furiously trying to coax blood back into it.

It took a few minutes but eventually Altair stopped whining when that uncomfortable pins and needles sensation returned to his limbs, and staggered to the bathroom holding himself. "Crazy as hell… Jesus I gotta piss so bad!"

Ezio shook his head and as soon as the door was shut, flopped onto his face with his nose in Altair's pillow.

It hadn't been an easy night, but he'd done it. He'd spent a whole night in the same bed with another man without having sex, and aside from the nightmares and falling asleep on one of Altair's arms it had been a perfectly uneventful night.

"Hey, Altair?"

"Huh?"

"What time do you usually eat breakfast?"

"I usually don't."

"Why not? Breakfast is the most important meal of the day."

He could just picture Altair shrugging; "I just don't."

"Well I'm hungry… Would you eat something if I made it?"

There was a hesitant silence as Altair considered it; "Yeah… But if you make something it'll wake everyone else up and I didn't think you wanted them to know you stayed."

"I'll be quick about it," He rolled out of bed and left the room, walking lightly on the balls of his feet up the staircase.

The living room was empty, and the kitchen was dark, and Ezio slipped silently into it, peeking into cabinets and cupboards and pulling down what he wanted, and as he was bending into the fridge he heard a noise behind him and his heart leapt into his throat.

"What the hell are you doing out of bed so early," Malik grumbled sleepily. "You usually don't bother ge—" And then he noticed the distinct lack of socks.

Ezio slowly, carefully, peeked out of the fridge.

Malik blanched the color of a tomato and tried to cover the bareness of his chest, then his stump then his chest again, face flickering backward and forward quickly from rage to shock.

"I'm making cereal?"

Malik snorted and rolled his eyes, "I take it that you stayed over?"

He gave a slow nod, leery of the older man's presence, and suddenly extremely aware that Malik was missing a limb. He'd never given it much thought until now. "I can make more."

Malik shook his head. "I just want the coffee."

Ezio blinked and glanced back into the fridge, he pulled the can out and held it in an outstretched hand, but Malik seemed reluctant to take it. Ezio could feel the man's unease growing, so he looked slowly away, too quick and it would have looked suspicious, and opened the freezer. "Do you have any fruit besides bananas and oranges?"

Malik snatched the can away. "No, Zafir and I are allergic to strawberries, and everyone likes blueberries so they don't last long… And for some odd reason Altair has a serious aversion to apples. I can't say I blame him, I don't like them either."

"Why not?"

He shrugged.

A thud from upstairs stole their attention, and they looked up at the ceiling in unison.

Malik looked back to the coffee pot first; "That's Gadil… He likes to pretend he can fly off the bunk beds. So, unless you want to be found out I'd hurry if I were you."

Ezio nodded and pulled out the milk, tucked the cereal box under his arm and the bowls he'd collected, spoons in his pocket, and made it just out of sight by the time Gadil came down stairs rubbing his glasses on his shirt front.

Altair was sitting on the end of the bed flipping through TV channels when Ezio returned, and when he saw the cereal box in the younger man's arms, he rolled his eyes and gave his head an amused shake.

They sat in the floor and watched reruns of The Price is Right, and messily ate cornflakes, then Altair picked up the half gallon of milk and took a big drink of it, right from the jug.

"Oh, gross… now it's got your germs in it!"

He shrugged. "'do it all the time and nobody seems to notice."

Ezio wrinkled his nose. "I noticed… Yuck."

"Oh, you were sucking my tongue last night, it can't be that bad."

"That was different." He crunched some of his cereal with his spoon.

"How was it different? Other than the fact I didn't stick my tongue in the milk."

Ezio rolled his eyes; "You're hopeless."

He shrugged and turned his head to glance at the clock; "Fuck, it's early;" He rubbed his face with both hands; "Why is it so early…"

"Because it is?"

"Ha-ha… I'm going back to bed." He crawled back onto the mattress.

"AWWW! Come on, you can't go back to bed! It's beautiful outside!"

"It's gonna be hot and miserable and muggy all day… I want to lay around in the air conditioning and watch topless mud-wrestling." He flopped down on his stomach, chest propped on a pillow behind Ezio's shoulder and eyed the younger man sleepily.

"Topless mud-wrestling?"

"Yes… I don't care if you're gay or straight or who-gives-a-fuck, there is something hypnotic and fundamentally satisfying about watching titties bounce around like that." He plucked up the remote and started flipping the channels.

"You're awful."

He sat the remote down and motioned to the TV; "Take a look and tell me that's not hypnotic."

Ezio wrinkled his nose but slowly turned to the TV. "You TIVO'ed topless mud-wrestling?"

"Yes, I did."

Ezio finished his cereal, and since there was only a little milk left in the jug, tipped it up to his lips and finished it off, then with a hefty sigh, crawled onto the bed and sat at Altair's hip.

He didn't want to admit it, but it was hypnotic. "That woman has huge nipples."

Altair chuckled breathlessly into his shoulder.

And that's when Ezio really became aware of Altair's position—More specifically the curve of his ass.

When Altair chuckled, or laughed while he was lying like that… His ass moved.

"See, watching titties jiggle is hypnotic."

"Yeah, sure…" He wasn't even looking at the TV.

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	48. Chapter 48

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**Chapter 48; Moving Forward**

July ended under a black cloud for Ezio, mostly because his family decided to take a vacation together before Petruccio left for college on the twenty-fifth of August.

Ezio, as much as he wanted to spend time with his family… felt a strange pang of trepidation thinking about being away from Altair form so long. He'd spent at least four days out of every week with the older man since June… It was slightly jarring to realize he would be away for twenty whole days.

He wondered briefly if his father would mind if he brought Altair along with him? Maybe stuffed him in a carryon?

Fuck, who was he kidding…

He was even less enthused when he realized he and his family would be traveling to Italy for those weeks to visit his mother's parents… People he hadn't seen since he was seven years old.

He wondered if his parents and grandparents would be terribly upset if he said he didn't want to go… But that would, in itself, be a lie. Because he _did _want to go, he just didn't want to leave Altair to do so.

He mentioned it Friday afternoon after his jujitsu lesson, lounging on the grass on the roof watching butterflies and bees swarm Malik's flowers.

Altair nodded and said; "I'll be here when you get back… And you can call me if you want, it's not like I'm gonna drop off the face of the planet while you're gone."

"You don't mind me going?"

"No I don't mind, go have fun! Bring me back something cool."

It had been such a relief. So, he'd gone home and happily packed, listened to his mother and sister babbling at him in distress that he'd started so late, and on Sunday morning off they went to the airport.

Getting onto the plane was hell. The zipper of Ezio's jacket kept setting off the metal detectors and the pat-down left him barely clinging to his sanity. He kept wanting to shove the man away and to distract himself from the violating feeling of unwanted hands on his body he looked at the ceiling and squeezed his eyes closed, trying to calm his racing heart. Telling himself it was something that had to be endured. There was nothing sexual about it, despite the fact those hands were in places he didn't want them to be.

Uncle Mario was seated beside him on the plane and offered a silent nudge with his elbow when he realized Ezio was still shaking.

The ride was hellishly long, and baby Giovanni was not at all pleased when they started gaining altitude. Katie and Claudia cooed and fussed at him and tried to appease him with a rattle, then Katie gave him a bottle with some water in it and Ezio supposed swallowing let the little boy's ears pop and his wails were reduced to quiet snuffles.

The in-flight movie was stupid, so Ezio spent most of the time listening to music and focusing on the thrum of life from around him. When the flight attendants came around he happily took his offered two drinks and fell asleep for a while, only to be woken up by Uncle Mario nudging him and saying food was being brought around, would he rather have the veal, the chicken or the fish.

Federico traded Mario places a while later, and he and Ezio played cards for a while. A transfer in London as well as the resulting three hour delay gave Ezio plenty of time to explore, press his face against terminal windows and stare out at the world around him.

He took a picture of himself looking bored and sent it to Altair, his spirits lifted somewhat when he got a reply photo of Malik furiously mopping the PI's bathroom floor, glaring at the camera with wide angry eyes and his mouth open mid-shout. Below that was a single word; _'Bleach.'_

And a few seconds after that a picture of Altair's lonely little finger.

It was cheesy and really didn't help his mood at all, but it felt nice to know he wasn't the only one who was miserable, in a weird way.

Ezio and Claudia attacked the Duty Free shops while they waited and Ezio rolled his eyes when his sister flirted with every young man she saw then denied she was doing it.

It was dark by the time the boarded the plane and Ezio snapped a few secret photos of London's lights as they flew away.

He slept a while, oddly at ease now so high above the world.

He was barely awake when the plane landed, and dozed off again leaning on his mother's shoulder as they climbed into a series of three rental cars and headed off… All he was aware of was waking up the next morning in Italy.

Everything looked ancient. Gold and green and earthy red, and the drive, though long, was exquisite and he filled an entire one gig memory card in his camera just taking photos and video of the sights and the bored singing and Eye-Spy games he played with his family as they rotated among the three cars throughout the day.

His grandparents greeted them with loud laughter and open arms, hugging and kissing each cheek. Pats on the back and chest and more kisses and cheek pinches.

Aunt Valencia put her big hand on his head and mussed his hair; _"You're almost tall enough to put my arm on when I walk!" _

Ezio took a picture of her and Uncle Mario, staring at one another uneasily then sent it to Altair. He snorted back a laugh when the older man returned; _'That's a lot of woman…'_

His next three texts weren't answered, and it worried Ezio until he realized how late it was in Chicago and Altair was probably sound asleep. He was craving sleep himself, despite the fact it was morning and the sun was up here. Jetlag was killer, really it was.

After a meal that left him so full he was beginning to wonder if he would ever be able to eat again Ezio found Petruccio sitting glumly outside in the garden watching birds and composing an epically long text on his phone.

The trip seemed like a gigantic burden those first few days. Ezio, and it seemed Petruccio as well, felt as if they were going through withdrawals. Ezio didn't want to leave the little room he his uncle and younger brother were sharing in his grandparent's small antique house, and Petruccio's interest in the local avian population diminished to nil.

For the next week it seemed nothing was worth paying attention to other than the fact they were in a whole different country than the ones they lo— cared about.

Everything felt boring, too much trouble to bother getting out of bed for… At least, that was the case until Ezio woke up to the sound of his phone ringing on the tenth.

"Hello?" He mumbled, and rubbed his cheek into the pillow again, tugging the blanket up and hiding beneath it.

"Hey, I need your help."

It was Desmond. Not the person Ezio had been expecting. He felt suddenly worse than he had fifteen minutes before.

"Des? W-what's up?" He tried to keep his voice low because Petruccio was still trying to asleep across the room… Uncle Mario was one of those horrid morning people like Desmond, so he was already up and probably had been for hours.

And Desmond said the last thing Ezio expected him to.

"Altair's birthday is Saturday and I have no fucking clue what to get for him."

The whole ten days they had spent in Italy so far Petruccio had been rather openly obsessed with romanticism. He took photos of sunsets and birds and animals and people holding hands and e-mailed them to Eli. Reluctantly went shopping with Aunt Valencia and Mama and Claudia just to pick out trendy knick-knacks for his girlfriend, an embroidered pillow case, a hand carved little wooden box to keep her earrings in. A wooden ball with a bell in it for Snowman.

Over the past ten days Ezio had begun to wonder exactly what it really meant that he and Altair were in this tentative… Relationship. He really didn't know what to do, and the brief phone calls he'd had with the PI every other morning just seemed to make that ache in his chest more pronounced.

How did one ask what role they were supposed to take in such a thing? He didn't know what to do… And studying Petruccio didn't help, it just made him think in his head; _'I'm practically dating this man, and I don't know how to conduct myself outside of kissing and dry-humping.'_

There had to be some sort of social etiquette for men in his position… And this new revelation, Altair's birthday, just made the need to find out what that was more urgent.

"Uh… Des, w-what would be appropriate?"

"Well, he's turning thirty… I was thinking like one of those old man condoms from—"

"Old man condoms?"

"Yeah, they're made of hard plastic… So he can keep it up if he needs it." He snorted.

"Desmond—"

"Or maybe some porn… Shaun said I should get him some porn. What kind of porn do you get for a gay guy?"

"Oh, dear God…" He groaned and rubbed his face, feeling his cheeks fill with blood; "Desmond, you can't get him porn—Y-you just can't."

"Well the other suggestion I had was a new area rug for his bedroom, but Malik shot that idea down because he said he'd already got him one… I don't know what to do— I used to know but that was before I found out he liked men, so now I'm just kinda lost… It's like trying to pick out a birthday present for my stepmother only this is harder because I actually KNOW Altair… Sophia is just kinda THERE… All I have to do for her is put a bow on one of those wooden wick candles they sell at the yuppie stores down town and mail it to her, then I don't have to hear any or her shit until Christmas."

And Ezio had an epiphany. "Curtains… Go to the store and buy some Venetian blinds and dark red curtains. Give him that."

"Really? Curtains? Why?"

"Because he needs them… And if you really want to impress him, have Shaun help you put the blinds up in the office and the curtains in his room." There, two birds with one stone.

"I don't want Shaun in on this, he's already doing his own thing… Fucking prick. He's buying him a new combo printer 'cause Altair spilled coffee in his the other day. You know he put staples in my chair yesterday? Stabbed holes in my ass when I sat down."

Ezio decided that was probably the closest hint Shaun would give the other young man that he was attracted to him. It was kind of funny watching them argue and knowing that Shaun was trying to make everyone think he hated Desmond so they didn't know he liked the other man.

"Oh, I got my license the other day. It's not as cool looking as I thought it would be… Altair's lettin' me take my own cases too. I've delivered four subpoenas and summons already. And I think I saw Oprah the other day."

"Oprah?"

"Yeah… It may have just been some lady with a big mouth, but I think it was Oprah."

Ezio was reminded of the time Desmond had refused to eat his morning toast because he was sure Michael Jackson's visage was burned into the bread.

He then wondered absently why Altair hadn't told him his birthday was so soon… Maybe he didn't want Ezio to know?

"How's your vacation going?"

Ezio shrugged even though he knew Desmond couldn't see it; "It's kind of boring."

"Are you anywhere near Rome? Can you get a picture of the coliseum for me? I've had _dreams_ about that place! Like those weird dreams that feel real? It's so cool!"

He sighed; "Yeah, we're visiting with my grandparents right now… We're going to go to Venice and then down to Rome for a day or two… My father wants to visit the Vatican City."

"Cool! That's where the Pope lives, right? Can you like get your picture taken with him?"

Ezio chuckled into his pillow. "No, not really."

"Damn… That'd be kinda cool."

"The Swedish Guard would shoot you if you got too close to him."

"Swedish Guard?"

"The guys in the funny suits with the feathers on their hats."

"OH!"

"Hey, Des? You've had a girlfriend, right?"

"Yeah… HAD, she dumped me."

"Well, what'd you get her for her birthday?"

"Chocolate and shoes… She liked shoes." He sighed despondently; "Well, I'd better go… Thanks for the ideas. Have a good vacation."

Ezio lie there in bed for a long while after the call ended staring at the ceiling and thinking. Trying to rationalize why Altair would not have mentioned his birthday. Could it possibly be that he really just didn't want Ezio to know? Maybe it just hadn't come up in conversation, or perhaps mentioning it would have made it look like he wanted Ezio to make a big deal of it. What if Altair had thought Ezio knew already?

He contemplated calling Altair and asking, but didn't want to appear rude in case the older man simply hadn't wanted Ezio to know.

Conflict, was not an emotion that boded well with Ezio, or any Auditore for that matter…

So Ezio climbed out of bed slowly, tiptoeing past his younger brother, and managed to slip downstairs past his parents, grandparents Aunt and Uncle who were gathered around the breakfast table talking quietly over coffee, and out into the walled in back yard.

His grandfather's dog was lying lazily beside the little raised fountain that hadn't worked in years and frogs had overrun. It thumped its tail expectantly as Ezio jogged quietly past, peering up at him with its mismatched eyes, tongue lolling out the side of its mouth.

A few kittens that his grandfather said lived under the shed darted away into the shadows as he passed them, pecking lightly on the door to what his mother said was effectually a carriage house that had been built for Valencia when she'd outgrown the doors in the main house. It was a seemingly oversized place with large windows and doors and it made Ezio feel very small and childlike knocking like that. It had two stories, and Federico, Katie and baby Giovanni had been given the second floor as their own for the duration of the trip, while Valancia took her preferred room at the bottom of the stairs, right off the kitchen.

Katie answered the door, smiling brightly, her face seeming to glow. "I was just going in to see if they needed any help making breakfast. The boys are playing up stairs." She pointed over her shoulder.

Ezio nodded and stepped out of the way as she seemed to prance across the courtyard to the main house, pausing a moment to pet and coo at grandfather's lazy dog before she called out a cheery good morning and disappeared into the kitchen.

Ezio padded across the large receiving room and crawled up the oversized stairs following the sound of shrill laughter as it echoed in the whole house and when Ezio found his brother the older man was standing beside the bed playing peek-a-boo behind a still damp bath towel with the baby, alternately rubbing his head to dry his hair.

Baby Giovanni was laying on his back wiggling and waving his chubby little arms and legs happily, cackling whenever Federico appeared from behind the towel with a 'BOO!'

"Good morning, Ezio." Federico didn't take his eyes off the baby but waved Ezio closer, groping blindly to his other side for a T-shirt from his drawer. "Come look at this. He started doing it this morning."

Ezio bent close over the baby expecting something magnificent, like operatic scales, or maybe he could change colors or something.

Federico gripped his brother's shoulder and called out; "Hey, Gio!"

Bright blue eyes snapped to his face and he grinned wetly.

It seemed to be a great and mighty accomplishment because Federico laughed and called out to him again. "Giooooo!"

Ezio was more amused by his brother's reaction than the baby's.

"I went in to get him this morning and he turned his head and looked right at me when I said his name… Then he did it again while Katie was feeding him. Isn't it fantastic! He'll be a genius I know it! Where's the camera…" He turned and began rummaging in his luggage.

Ezio failed to see how recognizing your name made you a genius, but then again he hadn't really been around babies a lot.

"Ah! Isn't he so frickin' _cute!"_ Federico leaned over the little boy to blow a raspberry on his round little tummy, and let him yank on his hair for a few seconds while he halfheartedly tried to work those grabby little fingers free.

"You're completely owned by that baby, you know."

"Ah, well it was bound to happen sooner or later. It's entirely worth it." He climbed to his feet, dusting off his knees and scooped the baby up.

It was a strange balancing and juggling act that his brother had perfected, shifting his clothes and baby from one arm to the other while he dressed and tidied up their bedroom. It was very much ballet like in Ezio's mind, and even though it was his brother standing there in his boxers and a t-shirt, there was something different, something beautiful about it all.

He was still Federico, the mischievous, sarcastic young man who'd been dating four different girls when Ezio had been kidnapped, but at the same time, he was… was just different. Grown up maybe.

Ezio saw a lot of his father's mannerisms in the delicate but confident way Federico handled his son, leaning a hip on the edge of the bed and just cradling him in those big arms of his. That tiny little smile on his face just from watching the curiosity and trust in the baby's eyes as he sucked placidly on a pacifier.

Ezio felt that maybe he was seeing something so genuine and innocent it had physical impact on the world around him, this being a prime example of its work. He didn't know it until Federico's eyes flicked up at him for a second and the older man chuckled, but he'd been making a similar face standing there with his arms crossed.

"D'you wanna hold him?"

"Can I?"

"Sure… Just support his head and butt and he does the rest." He settled the baby in Ezio's arms.

He hummed in agreement, eyes locked with those of the infant, only halfway aware that Federico was searching almost frantically around the room for his jeans, finding them somewhere near the closed off fireplace behind the desk, and shaking them out before dawning them.

"I'm gonna spoil you rotten, Little Man. R-O-T-T-E-N!"

Federico scoffed and dropped onto the edge of the bed to pull his socks and shoes on; "You and everybody else… Claudia started a vacation fund for him. Said she wanted to take him to Disney World when he turned four and buy him two of everything."

"Our Claudia? Our SISTER Claudia?"

Federico's eyebrows bobbed upward as he nodded.

It was quiet for a few minutes then Federico flopped backward across the messy sheets with a pleased sigh and crossed his arms behind his head.

Ezio blinked, then narrowed his eyes. "You're hiding something… You're never this quiet—Did you two elope last night or something?"

Federico chuckled but shook his head; "No…" He rubbed his throat. "… I'm just kind of—" He took a deep breath and let it out, "There aren't words."

And then the state of everything finally clicked, the clothes tossed to all corners of the room, the rumpled sheets, the lack of a baby bed in the room—"You had sex last night, didn't you."

"I-I've slept on the couch every night since she moved in with me, even here I stayed down stairs… Except last night." He laughed and covered his face; "It's so weird."

"You're in love," Ezio shrugged feeling his stomach flutter. "And you haven't slept in two months."

"Yeah, that adds to it… But, what's up with you. I may be sleep deprived and running on adrenaline but YOU have been smiling the whole time you've been up here, and I'm not so sure it's entirely about Gio there."

"Yeah…" He sat carefully in the chair at the desk, noticing how those big blue eyes had drifted closed. "I-uh… H-how did you know it was right?"

"Know what was right?"

"How did you know you were ready for sex?"

Federico rolled onto his stomach, crossed his arms and bowed his head into them sleepily. "With Katie, or _in the beginning."_ He said it in a deep falsetto.

"In the beginning."

He sighed, eyes closing, brows scrunching; "Well… I was fifteen… I was bored, so I just looked at her and said; 'Hey, let's do it.' And she said; 'Ew, get away from me you creep!'"

Ezio let out a single breathy 'ha' and shook his head; "Smooth, really smooth."

Federico chuckled; "I don't really know when I was ready the first time, I just remember thinking 'holy shi—' and it was over before I got to the 'T'."

"Nice."

"It happens… But with Katie—I just knew." His brows scrunched; "I'll admit, it was a little scary at first, I was afraid I'd _'holy shi-' _again because I really just wanted to impress her, I-I wanted it to be good… But then I guess it kind of hit me that it wasn't really about sex, as dumb as that sounds, it was about us—" he yawned, "—Us just being together. The sex was just an added bonus… It was slow and quiet… Really intense." He hummed and rubbed his face on his arm. One eye cracked open and peered curiously out at him; "Why do you ask?"

Ezio shook his head; "I—"

"Have you found someone you're considering?" He grinned impishly.

He hesitated, then his shoulders fell and he looked away embarrassed, "Is that weird? I mean, after everything?"

"Not really… I mean, I don't think so, do you?"

He shook his head; "Sometimes it feels weird, and I wonder if I really should be feeling like this… I wonder if I'm ready or not."

"Ezio, you'll never know unless you try it… The only thing I ask you is that you try it by yourself first. I don't want some stranger getting you in a compromising position and taking advantage of you. I'd have to steal Uncle Mario's boat and enough concrete to sink a body with if they did."

"He's not a stranger."

"Hmm, do I know him?"

"Yeah… You do."

"Oh? Care to tell me who?"

"No, I won't."

"Why not?"

"Because it's private… But this isn't really the reason I came up here—I need some romantic advice."

Federico grinned. A devious, sarcastic, mischievous smirk of a grin. "And you came to be because I am the Master of Loooove."

Ezio rolled his eyes; "I came to you because out of everyone, I trust you implicitly not to go blabbing it around."

"Aw, come on, even if you don't mean it just let me _think_ you came here because I'm a sex god." He pouted comically; "Give me that at least."

Ezio cocked an eyebrow quizzically at him.

He sighed dramatically and dropped his face to the quilt; "Fine… What do you want… Hurry up, I'm hungry."

Ezio shook his head and with a sigh just spoke; "I don't know where I fit with this… this relationship I'm in."

"Well, what do you mean? Like, emotionally, or physically."

"Both."

"Ah, well I can only help on the emotional shit, I've never actively been in a relationship with a guy—Yeah, I've been curious but honestly, show me someone who hasn't been… Maybe you should ask Dad's friend Lorenzo. From the way dad talks about him he'll do anything with feet and a hole to stick his dick in."

"Ew! Jesus… What the fuck is wrong with you."

Federico raised up and flapped his hands frantically; "Don't say 'fuck' in front of the baby!"

Ezio wrinkled his nose up; "You're so gross."

"I'm honest… Seriously, if you need THAT kind of help, you should ask him."

"You're so helpful, thank you for such sagely advice." He rolled his eyes sarcastically and had to stare at baby Gio for a few minutes to calm himself. "I don't want the advice of some sex crazed old man, I've had quite enough of that already."

Federico let his breath out in a whoosh and propped his jaw on his hand then glanced irritably off to the side. "Fine, I'll help as much as I can, but I don't want to get into anything graphic, thinking about… about that makes me queasy."

"About what?"

"Ezio, please."

"No, seriously, what makes you queasy? I thought you just said you'd been curious."

He sighed and dropped onto his face for a few seconds more, speaking through the mattress; "I've been curious about it, alright, but after you told us what happened to you it's kind of made me… not so curious."

"Federico, I…"

He lifted his head, face blanched brightly and couldn't bring himself to look Ezio in the eye.

"It's not so bad if it's with someone you trust."

Federico did look at him then; "You've—"

"No, but I've talked about it with—with HIM a few times. He's been very honest with me about it, that at first it is uncomfortable, but if you're given time and proper a-attention, that it can feel good when it's done correctly."

"And you believe him?"

He looked away; "I want to… But, I guess it's like you said, I'll never know if I don't try… I guess maybe it would be better to t-try it myself before I even so much as think about letting anyone do that to me again."

"Are you implying that I should take my own advice?"

"Yeah."

Federico stared at him for a few minutes with an unreadable expression on his face, and then suddenly that changed and his eyes widened, his blush disappearing and his next words came out in a reverent whisper.

"It's Altair, isn't it."

Ezio felt himself go sheet white. A peculiar draining sensation from the top of his head to the tips of his toes that left his skin feeling tingly like a limb that has fallen asleep. He stared at his brother in shock and even as he opened his mouth to deny it, horrified that Federico may tell their father, the older man was crawling to the edge of the bed and sitting there with a hand to his forehead.

"It is, isn't it! You and Altair!"

His mouth flapped fishlike.

"Father thinks its Desmond because— But I know Desmond and he's nev—Oh wow." And he started giggling.

Ezio's mouth closed so quickly his teeth clicked.

"I knew it. I knew it! I KNEW IT!"

"Wait—Papa thinks it's DESMOND? He thinks I'm seeing _DESMOND!"_ His face twisted in shock. "W-why would he think I was interested in Desmond! He's like a brother to me!"

Federico made a rude noise between his lips and flapped a hand; "You don't remember your eleventh birthday party very well, do you. You and he spent the day holding hands and playing in the mud! I think Mama's even got a picture of you kissing his cheek!"

Ezio looked positively mortified and he remembered his father asking _'What happened to handholding and shoving one another in the mud?'_

Ezio clapped one hand over his face and groaned in misery; "Oh, my God… He really thinks I have a crush on Desmond." He raised his head nose wrinkled upward, eyes squinted; "It's Eli's brother who has a crush on Desmond! It's so bad they're almost intolerable to be around!"

Federico looked stunned for a moment, then started cackling.

Baby Gio twitched in his sleep and smiled around his pacifier.

"Federico, y-you have to promise me you won't tell Dad!"

"W-why! It's so funny!"

"It is not funny! It took me two weeks to convince Altair to even so much as look at me and I don't want dad scaring him off like he did Claudia's boyfriends!"

"He scares _them_ off because Claudia has terrible taste in men!"

"He does it because he is a man!" A voice from the doorway ceased any laughter and Federico turned and stared in shock at their mother.

Maria had a slight grin on her face and her arms crossed over her chest; "He looks at Claudia's 'friends' and sees exactly what they're thinking about her, and exactly why they're with her, the same as I do, but he can't tolerate the fact you all have grown up and are expressing yourselves physically, Claudia and Ezio especially." When she realized her two eldest children were just staring at her with embarrassed expressions on their faces she pursed her lips and continued; "You young men are all so transparent… You need to stop thinking with your balls. And use the heads on your shoulders." And then her eyes turned to Ezio; "I've known about your attraction to Altair since the first day you went over there and your father ranted all night that Altair had spoken about you as if you were some damsel in distress in need of rescue."

Ezio looked away from her humiliated.

"He'll figure it out in his own good time, trying to tell him now will only make him angry that he didn't see it for himself." She walked over calmly and plucked the baby from Ezio's arms. "And I would not listen to a word your brother has told you about Lorenzo, he may be a bit fanatical about his cars and strange pets, but he is not a sex maniac." She leaned her hip against the edge of the desk and gave Gio a kiss on the head before she turned to her sons. "Now… Before your brother pees himself laughing so hard, why don't you ask what you really came here to ask. Maybe I can be helpful."

Ezio practically writhed under her gaze, then let his breath out in a whoosh and stared at his hands as he spoke; "His birthday is Saturday and I want to get him something, but I don't know what would be appropriate… This isn't easy like Petruccio buying something for Eli, or even Claudia doing something for one of her boyfriends. I don't know what role I'm supposed to play in this relationship, there's no rules for this, and I don't know how to go about making one."

Maria nodded; "Well, don't think about it in terms of a 'relationship' then. That seems to be where all the problems are. Think of it that simply you are two men. Find something that Altair would like, not this mysterious 'boyfriend' creature. They really are such pesky things 'boyfriends', you can never please them… But it is very easy to please a friend, or a person you care about."

Ezio nodded, feeling somehow stupid for not seeing it.

"You over complicate things by trying to categorize and understand the deeper meaning within them, Ezio… sometimes you just have to sit back and take them for what they are."

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The next two days were spent, mostly, in a flurry of activity.

Ezio, his mother, sister, aunt and grandmother went shopping. They put so many miles on the rental car in those two days it almost doubled what had already been there, or so it seemed.

Petruccio went along on Saturday, finally coming out of his lonely funk, and found an interesting looking hat in a small shop that struck him, for some strange reason, as being an essential part of a magical series of gifts he'd put together for Eli.

Aunt Valencia thought the hat was horrendous and would probably look quite charming on the Dreadful Little British Twig.

And Ezio had yet to find something suitable for Altair's birthday.

He was almost frantic, scouring each and every shop he came across, looking for anything. Weird movie posters, strange knives, old knives, swords, interesting old books, a weird suggestive looking child's toy—ANYTHING!

But there was nothing…

And then… There was Lorenzo.

He drove a bright red car—No, he drove a bright red _Lamborghini. _

And when he spoke he did so in a calm, regal sort of tone that said to Ezio at least, that this man had influence. He also had a pair of Ferrari he wanted raced that evening and only Giovanni and Mario could do it… And if Federico was a good boy he could wash them off afterward.

Federico looked as if maybe he would be willing to wash the things with his tongue if given the chance… He always did have a soft spot for cars.

Lorenzo grinned at Maria but wouldn't let her very close to his cars, apparently he still hadn't forgotten that Giovanni had crashed two of his babies for this woman, and he was particularly cautious of her now. Unhappy Maria meant bad things for Lorenzo's car collection.

Ezio vaguely remembered this man from the visit they had paid more than fourteen years ago. Only before Lorenzo had worn his hair in the strangest severe looking bob… Now at least he'd let it grow out so it didn't look like he'd put a bucket on his head and sliced everything off even with the rim.

He and Ezio's father stood basically the same height, though Lorenzo looked a few pounds heavier. The first thing he said to Giovanni when he saw the man was;

_"Dear God, you look like shit!"_

And after tilting his face upward to peer at Mario he wrinkled his nose and said; _"You've gotten fat… Will you even still fit behind the wheel?"_

Federico leaned over and whispered that he wasn't really such an ass, the insults were all in good fun, that years ago Lorenzo had been a very proper, reserved soul, save for the instance where he'd called their mother a fat cow. But when he'd heard Ezio had been kidnapped, he'd gone into a fit of rage, seeing himself as an adoptive uncle to all of Giovanni's children and the resulting reduction in his overall stress level, after venting openly like that, had been so dramatic his high blood pressure had completely faded.

Lorenzo offered a welcome reprieve from searching madly for something that would be a proper birthday gift for Altair. They went out to eat and to the race… only to watch Uncle Mario get sideswiped by a rather 'rude' driver who should have known that he wouldn't fit between the ditch and that side of the car and listen to Lorenzo cursing madly under his breath.

Ezio spent most of the evening sitting on a fence post with his hands over his ears trying not to be splattered with mud, wishing and straining his mind that he might be able to find SOMETHING to give Altair before the end of the day.

It only occurred to him, once they'd gotten back to the house at close to two AM Sunday morning and everyone was eating and laughing and cheering, that he would be in Italy for almost ten more days and he had at least that long to actually find something. He didn't NEED to have it right away… Altair would never know the difference.

That knowledge was a solid relief, and also made him realize how completely exhausted he was.

He shouted to be heard above the singing and merrymaking that he had a very bad headache and was going to bed, then grimaced through the rib breaking hugs and goodnight kisses and slumped upstairs.

Petruccio, surprisingly, wasn't in the room, and his cell phone was blinking that he'd missed four calls and innumerable text messages. Ezio just grinned at it and flopped across his bed.

The noise from down stairs wasn't as bad as he'd thought it would be, echoing out open windows into the night and someone started singing loudly in a half drunken slur. It sounded like Federico.

It was nice… in a strange way, just to have a few moments to himself. And after he'd enjoyed them he fidgeted around and pulled his phone from his pocket, tapping it against his chin before he decided the six hour time difference wasn't so bad, and gave up. Dialing Altair's number was almost automatic, and he kicked off his shoes, wigging his toes in the air.

He thought maybe there wouldn't be an answer, but on the tenth ring there was a shuffling of soft cotton linens and Altair's voice came out hushed, muffled as if his nose were clogged and he'd been half asleep.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me." _Lame lame LAME!_ He ground his teeth and squeezed his eyes closed in humiliation.

Altair chuckled; "Yeah, it's you… Isn't it like, really late there? What are you still doing up?"

He shrugged and hiked his shirt up, scratching a mosquito bite on his ribs. "My father won this race thing so everyone's drinking and eating and having a big fat party down stairs… I told them I had a headache."

"If you wanna go party you can, I'll still be here in the morning."

"I know that… But I wanted to call you now."

Altair made a spluttering noise; "Why? I'm sure Italy is much more interesting than talking to me."

"It's not really. Just a place."

"Now I know you're lying. What's up, you sound weird."

Ezio sighed, all the worry and anxiety seeming to suddenly flood him and he was terribly aware of how warm he felt, how his hands shook, and how tight his jeans felt just from hearing Altair's voice.

"Why didn't you tell me about your birthday?"

It was quiet on the other end of the phone for a few seconds, then Altair sighed quietly but otherwise didn't speak.

"If you didn't want me to know you could have just said so…" Ezio cleared his throat, staring upward into the dark rafters feeling kind of hurt.

Altair didn't say anything, but Ezio could still hear him breathing.

"Well, I… I have a birthday present for you anyway… Surprise." It lacked any enthusiasm.

Altair was quiet, blinking probably and he swallowed thickly, the sound muffled and distorted; "Ezio, I don't really celebrate it…"

"Why not?"

He sighed again and shifted against his bed; "My biological mother died on my birthday… It—it's kind of painful. That's why I didn't tell you."

His focus on the ceiling wavered and he blinked rapidly, feeling somehow hollow in his chest. "Oh."

"So, yeah… Now you know."

He chewed his lip for a moment, feeling shallow and stupid for expecting it to be some self centered reason. "I'm sorry…"

"It was a long time ago."

"That doesn't mean it doesn't still hurt."

Altair was quiet for a long few seconds, and Ezio could hear him breathing slowly and deeply. The sound was too tense to mean he'd fallen asleep, and to Ezio, it sounded as if the older man were trying to hold in all back… force it down again.

"Altair?"

After a moment he spoke in a whisper; "Yeah?"

"What are you wearing?"

"Sweats… I didn't really get out of bed today. Unless you count the thirty minutes it took Desmond to come in here and put up these really ugly orange curtains… I suspect you had something to do with that… The blinds in the office are nice though. I had to buy him a pizza before he would go home—I know, I know… I'm a pushover."

"A shirt?"

"What?"

"What you're wearing… You said you were wearing sweats, are you wearing a shirt?"

"Yeah and a jacket too, Malik's got the air conditioner on full blast and— W-where is this going?" He sounded genuinely confused.

Ezio swallowed, feeling a lump of apprehension in his throat. His heart was racing, and his fingertips felt slightly numb. He wondered absently, if he was really doing this, or if it was some dream but even as he thought it, his pulse was pounding in his ears and he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it was actually happening. He wanted to rationalize it, that he just missed the other man's company and he had had a trying day, and had been attempting to find an excuse good enough that he could relax and relieve some 'stress', for quite a while now but hadn't been able to convince himself his reasons were good enough.

But maybe now… Maybe just accepting it for what it was…

"Ezio, are you still—"

"Take your shirt off…"

Silence greeted him on the other end of the phone.

He cleared his throat and tried again, his voice just a hiss of a whisper; "Take your shirt off, Altair."

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CLIFF HANGER! *evil face*

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	49. Chapter 49

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_Thanks for the concern guys, yeah the house is semi-OK, got family coming in to help fix it up this coming week. Which means, MY MUSE IS COMING OVER AGAIN! Expect angstastic chapters next week! I send internet cookies to all of ya! *kisses*_

_(**Insert Random Shaun and Eli Chapter Here** Just to break up the Altair/Ezio chapters and add a little foreshadowing for Dear Sweet Petruccio's near future. *Evil Face*)_

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**Chapter 49; You Threw Off My Groove!**

Something strange was happening in Shaun's apartment.

For the past week and a half Elizabeth had been practically ensconced in her room, or slouching on the couch in baggy sweats and t-shirts Shaun knew for a fact, were not hers. That damned ferret seemed to mill about listlessly as well, as if life had lost all meaning. Even digging in Shaun's beloved plants didn't appear to hold as much appeal as it had merely thirteen days ago.

Shaun did not like abrupt changes in his norm. He did not like deviation, or those pathetic, despondent faces his sister pulled. They made him irritable and just plain unpleasant to be around.

Eli liked to call it his man-period.

Whenever she changed the brand or scent of their laundry detergent, or bought a new soap for the dishwasher, he would sulk and pout and generally be a pain in the ass.

Eli liked to do things like that intentionally just to mess with him.

She also liked to mention that loudmouthed young man Shaun complained about vehemently every evening without fail. She liked to just randomly go to the door and say in a cheerful greeting 'Oh, hello Desmond!' just so she could watch Shaun's head snap around in search of him, lips compressed eyes half panicked.

But Shaun, bless him, despite what she wanted everyone to think, was in general a very good brother. He helped with homework when he was able, rationed out hours on the computer, allowed ridiculous dates with that little Auditore brat—even though he really didn't trust the sex crazed nit—he even allowed 'alone time' between the two hormonal teens, so long as Elizabeth left her bedroom door open.

But with said nit gone away on vacation to the land of his ancestors Elizabeth had devolved into a depressing creature that had oozed tentacles of displeasure into every inch of the apartment.

Shaun couldn't even have access to the stereo and the unfortunately small space of living room floor to get his Shuffle on because she was always there with that damned ferret and he didn't want her watching him.

He had never seen her so terribly out of sorts, she wasn't even this listless when he'd moved her in, completely upsetting her world, removing her from a proper English education and dropping her into Chicago Public… She'd been miserable, surrounded by punks and people of unsavory intellect. It had taken Shaun a year of saving from his two jobs to afford sending her to a private school that would be more familiar in curriculum to what she'd left. Of course, he decided it had been too much to ask that she behave like a proper lady, she was of course, his sister, therefore there had to be something strange and abnormal. It was genetic, their dearly departed deadbeat of a father and his untraditional upbringing in the back of a pub… Shaun told himself her affinity for boys clothing and skateboards was tolerable… At least she didn't go breaking into businesses and snooping in their records, or hacking computers like he done at her age… And still did on occasion if the price was right.

This though, the horrible, intolerable LUMP she'd become on the couch though just was simply unacceptable. He was used to having some free time after all, he had hobbies, he had a life, and having to tiptoe around her every day was driving him mad. He felt strangled and—

And on Monday he decided he'd had enough. He was going to enjoy himself, was going to go out that night and relax and he didn't care what she said or thought, he was not stifling himself on her behalf a second longer. He threw open the door to his room, chin up, marched out in his best gear and politely took up the place between her and the TV. "I want you out…"

She blinked, distracted by the glowing blaze orange piping on his pants then gave her head a shake, eyes wide as she looked him up and down, from the bottoms of his shoes to the top of his head. "What _are_ you wearing!"

He blanched and his fists tightened at his sides. "Go on! OUT!"

"I thought you only owned one outfit in fifteen shades of beige and grey! Where the hell did THAT getup come from!"

"I do have a life you know, despite what you and your little Italian Miniature Pony think. Now take that fucking rat of yours and get OUT!" He pointed emphatically toward the door.

Her nose wrinkled up distastefully and she clutched the boneless fat lump of fur to her chest. "You're barking!" she practically launched herself to her feet and darted toward the door, shoving her feet into shoes and snatching up Snowman's harness and lead. She paused in the doorway, staring at him unblinking; "I'm borrowing those pants one day, they're fantastic!" And she was gone.

Shaun felt somehow triumphant and puffed his chest out smugly, not just because he now had time to himself, but also because that had been the first time since he'd taken custody of his sister three years before that she'd complemented his choice of clothing, or really anything aside from how quickly he could find information on the internet or that he was the best brother ever for buying her beers.

It was nice to be acknowledged for something that set him aside from the stereotype. It was nice that he had more in common with her than just a name and similar appearance.

Yes, he decided, something strange was happening in the apartment… His sister was actually starting to see and respect the fact he was a person, not just a cookie cutter copy of the average Brit living abroad.

Thirty minutes later when she returned, ferret hanging out the front of her jacket gnawing happily on a piece of kitty kibble Shaun barely noticed her standing there munching what he dearly hoped was NOT kitty kibble, staring intently as he moved to the beat.

He only truly realized she was there when the song ended and he turned to press the repeat button.

"Why is it that I know what brand of underpants you wear, that you prefer the right side of your trousers, and that you can't eat Blue Cheese without getting constipated, but I had no fucking idea you could do THAT?"

"Because you never bloody well _asked!_ Or, for that matter, even tried to get to know me when you moved in, you just pegged me as the characterless asshole and didn't bother to actually see _me."_

"Well you're always locked in your room looking at pornography!"

"I do NOT look at pornography all the time—"

"Shaun, I wash your sheets." She crossed her arms and Snowman squeaked in agreement.

He blanched and spluttered then threw his arms in the air; "I'M HUMAN!" His nose wrinkled up, "Like I don't know about that BOX of yours under the bed."

Her mouth dropped open and her eyes widened in shock.

His hands went to his hips; "You haven't once tried to get to know me, Elizabeth. Not ONCE."

"If you were actually HERE I'd have asked."

"I'm here every evening."

She blinked at him again, for a long few minutes, and Snowman shook his head, sneezed and hacked as if he'd choked on his kibble, then rubbed his ears sleepily.

"You're… you're not as bad as I thought you were when I came here, I'll admit that, but you're not perfect. You're too strict, you're controlling, and unapproachable."

"I'm strict and controlling?"

"YES!"

He crossed his arms and shifted his weight to his other foot, smirking at her. "Really."

She stared at him contemptuously for all of five seconds then looked away, cowed. "No…"

And he really wasn't… Coming to Chicago from Leeds had been a big change. She had her own room, and when she'd passed the pet shop on her way home from school one evening a short two months after arriving and seen through the window a display of baby ferrets, all of them the uniform sable and vanilla… save the single tiny pale one in the corner the others seemed to ignore she'd told Shaun about it in passing on her way to school the next day… And come home to a little colorful cage sitting in the living room and Shaun frantically searching around the kitchen holding a broom, cursing vehemently under his breath because the nasty little bugger had escaped and—Oh, when did you get home… No, no not doing anything… What? Oh, no that's not a ferret cage, no it's gerbils, the neighbor wanted them for her pet python Ha-ha… Go do your homework.

And there curled up amid a pile of dirty shirts and socks in her room was a pale vanilla and silver baby ferret.

No, Shaun wasn't as bad as she made him out to be… he wasn't that bad at all.

And maybe the unapproachable part was her fault as well, she'd never really tried you see…

She nibbled her lip for a moment, then took a deep breath and just blurted it out; "I lied before… I-I don't have a roommate at university—" She cleared her throat, "I've asked Petruccio to stay with me every so often."

He stiffened, giving a wave like shudder than rippled through him from the tips of his shoes to the ends of his hair and after a minute of tense silence he let out a deep sigh, shoulders slumping; "You're serious about him, aren't you."

She snorted quietly and bobbed one shoulder up toward her ear; "Obviously."

Shaun whimpered and turned away, prodding the command buttons on the remote to get back to that song he'd liked, "You're going to corrupt that poor boy… God help him."

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**_* 'Get His Shuffle On'_**_… Go to Youtube and search '__Melbourne__ Shuffle'._

_For some reason I am deeply attracted to the idea of Shaun doing this._

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	50. Chapter 50

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_Fifty Chapters, and a BIG YAOI warning people… Most seriously._

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**Chapter 50; Want**

"Ezio, what ar—"

"Close your eyes." He inhaled deeply and let it out again in a slow hiss. "I know what I'm doing." Which was probably the biggest lie he'd ever told, he didn't know what he was doing, but he did know he wanted this, had dreamed of a tenderness in Altair's touch. His kisses and hands working magic along every nerve and secret place on, and in his body.

He had wondered every night what the intimacy Altair talked about would feel like. What would it feel like to willingly, and lovingly give himself to this man? Or to have Altair—

"I want you to trust me… Do you trust me?"

He could hear Altair breathing, quick labored inhales and every time his breath was released it rattled against the mouthpiece of the phone like white noise. "Yeah."

"Take off your shirt and—a-and…" His mouth felt dry, and his teeth were chattering.

Altair was shifting around, his bed squeaking softly and the rustle of cloth. His breath was quick and when he spoke it was in the barest of whispers; "You've never done this before, have you."

He cleared his throat; "I have actually… Just not—I've… I've never meant it before."

"Relax… I can hear you shaking."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No, just means you're nervous."

"Well," he swallowed and started picking at a fray in the quilt; "This is a big deal for me and—" He clamped his mouth closed and tried to push away the urge to justify his emotions. It was hard to do, rationalizing what he felt was his way to control it, it took away that shard of panic that seemed to shove itself deeper into his chest with every breath… Just FEELING everything was terrifying.

He felt helpless, uncertain, and on the verge of tears. But, he realized, this was one of those moments. One of those instances of just having faith in himself and what he felt. He cleared his throat lightly; "Are you nervous, Altair?"

"Yeah… But I trust you."

It was relieving to hear it. Like a great weight had been lifted from his chest, or a tight, crushing embrace released. For a moment he was light headed, heart thudding like a bass drum in his ears. This, was a new level. Letting someone, letting _Altair_ know what and how he felt. Oddly enough, sharing that vulnerability of just FEELING lessened the panic a little… And Ezio was strangely emboldened, shifting his shoulders against the sheets, scraping his heels against the blankets until his socks peeled off, toes curling in anticipation, shivers running through him like lightning bolts.

It was exciting, and at the same time terrifying that he was actually in this position, ready to open himself to the other man. The fact Altair was thousands of miles away meant very little, his voice was very close and Ezio felt as if, perhaps he could feel breath in his ear. "I w-want to touch you… And feel your heart beat. I want your a-arms around me… I want you fresh from the shower so you smell like YOU, not that godawful deodorant you insist on wearing—"

Altair chuckled low in his throat.

Ezio was quiet for a few seconds, imagining the older man's face, that sly crooked grin, the hint of teeth between his lips, those few short hairs on his right jaw he never seemed to catch while shaving. That strange but beautiful shade of gold his eyes glittered in the sunlight. "I dream about you." His hand slid under his shirt again, scratching at that annoying little bump on his ribs, and ghosting low over his stomach.

"You do?"

"Yeah, almost every night… Sometimes I-I'm afraid it's a nightmare, but then I see your eyes, or I can feel your hands on me and I know it's OK." His throat felt tight but he pushed on, his words becoming quieter and quieter with every beat of his heart; "I dreamt y-you were… were inside me, and I… I want that… Would you touch me, if I asked you to?"

"Yes."

He was sure that something in him had snapped, some little steel thread that had been holding everything back, that had been pinning some cage like door or window closed, and his eyes slid closed, wetness seeping into his hair and ears; "If I asked you to stop, would you?"

"Yes."

"E-even if you were almost done? You'd stop then?"

"Yes, if you told me t—"

His breath sobbed out before he could stop it and Altair fell utterly silent. "You d-don't have to s-say anything else… I-I just needed to hear it." He rubbed his nose with his wrist and shifted his feet and hips against the mattress, trying to alleviate some of the pressure growing between his legs.

"Are you alright?"

"Y-yeah… Just g—give me a minute I need… to—" He pinned the phone to his ear with his shoulder, lip between his teeth and fumbled helplessly with the fly of his jeans. His hands shook as he shoved them down, almost frantic, adrenaline rushing through his veins like fire and his fingers slid into his underwear.

He wanted it, wanted to just thoughtlessly and helplessly act out what had happened in his dreams. The kisses and careful touches, Altair's presence bending over him, his eyes calm but alight as he eased himself in. Each breath and motion elongated, gentle, slow and perfect… But his fingers found that place and the smooth little lightning bolt of scar tissue slanting toward his spine where he'd been torn by those brutal men the first time he'd been touched. He remembered how he'd bled, the whole trip in that bastard's jet to Spain he'd been curled up on himself crying, in shock. And when he'd been pushed into the bathroom all the red in his pants had scared him and he'd thrown up, smacking his head on the toilet seat when he fainted… He remembered waking up to big blue eyes and a thin freckled face. Long thin, gentle fingers wielding a lighter and a hellishly sharp needle…

Leo had only spoken French, Spanish and Arabic… and for almost two months the only way they'd been able to communicate was through sheer pigheadedness and Leo's penchant to picking up on things quickly.

All of this, all the fear and pain and despair flashed through his mind and his resolve abruptly fled like cockroaches from the light.

His heart hammered in his chest and spots danced before his eyes.

What was he doing?

"Ezio?"

"Y-yeah?"

"Are you sure you're OK?"

"I-I'm OK." He cleared his throat, focusing on that calm, smooth like iced coffee voice. The warmth in those amber eyes and the understanding in his touch— and Ezio tried to advance a finger into himself, but his body clamped down violently in refusal. And when he tried a second time, he only halfheartedly prodded before he yanked his hand away and snapped his legs closed, curling inward on himself defensively.

This wasn't going to work… Dreaming about it was OK, imagining was fine… but actually trying to breach his body was an entirely different matter.

"Ezio, we don't have to—"

"I want this, Altair… I want it so much but—" His breath caught in his throat and he almost choked. For a moment he wondered if he would ever be able to do it, to relax and allow someone, himself included, near that area of his body, or if he should even bother trying.

Altair swallowed and Ezio could hear something different in his breath, a hitch; "We don't… we can—" He lowered his voice a little; "Maybe we can try it the other way around if you're uncomfortable."

He swallowed nervously; "You mea—"

"Yeah, what do you think?"

"I—I'm thinking I've never done that to another guy before…You would really let me do that to you?"

"Yeah," He hummed, but Ezio heard a whine within it, a soft, wanting sound.

Altair didn't know when his hand had sunk into his sweats, or when his knees had come up obscenely beneath the blankets, all he knew was the second Ezio spoke his fingers slipped behind his balls and his breath caught in his throat.

There would be no cold shower this time, no ignoring it like he had just about every time before… He needed this, and the fact Ezio was saying it, his voice echoing in his ears, made his desire completely undeniable. It was happening, and he knew his fingers just wouldn't be enough.

He was hard, very hard, and it wasn't because of some dream, or an overabundance of stress, this was purely and solely because of that voice, the mental images of Ezio lying on a bed somewhere half a world away, with his family having a party just down stairs, touching himself…

He tried to convince himself he was a sick demented old man, that it was wrong, but the thoughts were only half formed, something only partially voiced by that stricken part of him Malik had brought life to, months ago when he was prepared to wear bondage gear to his father's barbecue.

But there were no tabloids or reporters now, no one there to judge or shake their head at him… it was just Ezio's voice and desire. And everything was right with the world.

Fuck what everybody else thought…

"Ezio?" he cleared his throat; "Can I please take my pants off?"

"Yeah… I-I already took mine off;" He chuckled lightly, an amused, nervous sound. "It's so hot here."

"Lucky, I'm freezing… I could cut glass I think—"

Ezio snorted; "I don't doubt it… You've got that barbell and everything." He nibbled his lip. "Does it hurt to touch it?"

"Not anymore, it did after it was done… but now it's like electric or something… feels fantastic—You pulled on it the other day and I almost popped one off right there."

"Will you touch it for me?"

"Unless you want me to put the phone down I've o-only got one free hand and it's kinda interested in my ass right now… Fuck… E-Ezio? I n-need a minute."

"Why?"

"I gotta get something out of the bathroom."

"What?"

"I need lube or this is gonna get very uncomfortable very fast."

"I'm not waiting for you." He grinned.

He heard Altair's bed squeak but the man's breathing didn't waver, quick and heavy, his footsteps scuffing against the floor as he padded into the bathroom.

Ezio wasn't sure what he was doing until he heard the cupboard under the sink open and the familiar rattle of that 'Cox Box'. His heart leapt into his throat in realization of what that buzzing noise he'd heard while snooping most likely had been.

"What's in that box, Altair?"

The older man's breath hitched. "H-how'd…" He smiled, Ezio could hear it in his voice; "You little snoop."

"Well, what's in it?"

"Black plastic, and if you really want to know you ask me when you get back." The box rattled again and a few seconds later Altair's bed shifted under his weight. The blankets rustled distantly, as if the older man had laid the phone aside for a moment. He could hear a few barely perceptible slick noises and the phone was picked back up.

Ezio's lower lip went between his teeth and he pushed his underwear off his hips, easing himself out. For the first time he really took a moment to look at the proof of his want. Here in the dim light, with insects and night creatures singing just outside the window, the balmy spiced wind filtering through the screen and Altair's voice drifting through the phone, Ezio found the sight of himself, flushed and standing proudly between his legs, wasn't as threatening as he'd believed it to be… It looked and felt slightly painful from neglect, but it didn't seem angry as he'd always pictured it, it was just a part of his body, fitting perfectly into his palm like that.

"What are you doing, Ezio?" It was just a whisper.

"I-I'm thinking of your ass."

"My ass?"

"Yeah… Y-you've got a nice ass," He worked his tongue against his teeth, mouth feeling very dry, even as he struggled to keep his head clear, not think too much, but it was just plain impossible. His mind didn't want to shut up it seemed. "I want to touch it."

"Ezio…"

"What's it look like?"

He chuckled breathily; "I'm not sending you a picture of my ass."

"Damn."

He sighed amusedly in response.

"What are you doing right now?"

Altair couldn't quite speak at first, the words died in his throat, but after a second he forced them out anyway, quietly so nobody but Ezio could hear him. "Wishing these were your fingers."

Ezio didn't have any words, his heart skipped a beat and everything, all his want, surprise and intention came out in a whine.

How did he reply to something like that?

Ezio would never willingly admit it, but he knew dirty talk, had been instructed on how to please his betters with not only his body, but his voice as well. In his mind a dozen comments sprang up.

Would Altair prefer to be scolded? Talked down to like his preferences with women implied he may enjoy? Would he rather be begged? Would he like tears and sobbing? Would he respond to something filthy? _'Does your greedy little asshole want this? Is it hungry for my cock? You dirty slut, fucking whore…'_

Ezio shivered, closed his eyes tightly, gave his head a firm shake… And suddenly, something Federico had said came to him—

This wasn't about sex. It was about the two of them being together.

… Even though they _technically_ weren't geographically close… yeah.

He couldn't say anything. Words would have seemed shallow and contrived compared to that. Because when Altair had spoken, there hadn't been that buzz in his voice that said he was dodging or uncomfortable and just wanted to change the subject. That said he was only saying what you wanted to hear, or what was expected of him… He'd meant it. And that inflection made Ezio's body positively throb.

The conversation pattered out after that, just sounds and panted breath only broken every so often by a soft curse, or something slick sounding from Altair's end of the line. Even less frequent an actual word, and its monosyllable of an affirmation.

"I got three fingers… Is that enough?"

"Yeah…"

His eyes were closed, envisioning Altair lying spread out on his bed working fingers into himself, and despite the fact he knew what the older man was doing, he still pictured himself in that position during the real thing. Laying back on the bed and letting his legs fall open, watching the subtle shift of Altair's features as he pushed in, he wondered what it would feel like for the other man. He imagined it all, wanted it… But was surprised that listening to Altair's voice and breath hitch and come out high in a mix of relief and pain as he breached himself with something that was definitely not fingers, felt fantastic… Knowing that the older man was thinking of him imagining him there and ready, knowing Altair was preparing his body to take Ezio in, made him feel—He didn't have words. He knew only that he wanted it, all of it, all at once. Wanted to drown in pure sensation. Wanted to erase every bad memory, every pain and ounce of fear he'd ever experienced and replace it with the calm, careful—_beautiful_ picture Altair painted in his mind. Laying there, his hand curled around his shaft, pulling in time with the sounds coming over the phone, was almost magical. He felt strangely powerful, proud that Altair would let him, even in his imagination do something like this…

"A-Altair?"

He hummed, but seemed otherwise incapable of speech.

"Wh-when I get back, will you kiss me? I wanna kiss you so bad right now."

"Yeah… I'll d-do anything you w-want—_AH—_F-fuck I-I'm not gonna be able to walk tomorrow." He chuckled breathlessly and it bled into a moan.

Ezio found himself echoing the sound, his hand becoming bolder, mind slipping, letting himself wonder what it would be like to lean over and watch himself disappear into Altair's body, just once—

"Oh, God… D-do that again."

"Hmm?"

"Whatever you did to make yourself moan like that, do it again…"

He supposed when this was over he'd look back on it and feel embarrassed that just a little noise could make him feel so hot but he couldn't help himself, tilting his head back on the pillows, hand moving smoothly, firmly over his erection, his mind latching on to the noises, the mental images, the uncontrolled sounds coming over the phone when Altair did whatever it was again… and again and again and again—

Ezio's hips stuttered once against his fist and that was all the warning he got.

Altair's throat closed, all his own motion quickening in response as he heard the younger man cry out softly as his breath froze in his chest.

His heart ached, and his teeth sank into his lip, riding out his own climax near silently, boneless against it.

Ezio was quiet save his gasping, little specks of color dancing behind his eyes and a few minutes later, long enough that he began to feel terribly tired and disjointed, he forced himself to speak; "I… I need to clean up before my brother gets the wise idea to come up here."

"Did'ja make a mess?"

He laughed quietly; "Yeah… I think it's in my hair."

"And I'm remembering why I don't do this in bed… Mood killer, huh?"

Ezio felt himself grin.

"Go clean up… I-I'm gonna take a bath or somethin'… Call tomorrow?"

"I would hope so… My sister said if a guy doesn't call you the morning after that means he's a prick and deserves to have his balls kicked."

Altair's voice smiled lazily in a half numb, sated way; "I'll call you in the morning."

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	51. Chapter 51

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_Okay people, I officially broke the 400th page! There are, as of this moment, 415 pages of this fic written. I've only written one other fic that has been anywhere near this long and it was for another fandom and ended at about 675 pages. This thing is longer than the book I've been writing for THREE YEARS... =3= I am entirely mystified by you guys and thank you for giving me such confidence to keep writing. I bow to you all in earnest. You guys rock my fuckin' socks! Most seriously! _

_Love OZ_

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**Chapter 51; Big Girls Don't Cry**

Altair decided he did like the curtains. And the next morning, around noon-ish Ezio's time, he called and told him so. He even kind of liked that ugly orange color. It went with the ambiance.

Ezio laughed and asked if he'd really just used the word 'ambiance'.

And then Ezio had said something that made Altair's stomach turn to lead.

"So, my dad thinks you're Desmond."

He gave his head a little confused shake; "What?"

"My dad thinks I'm crushing on Desmond."

"You're not serious."

"Oh, but I am… Apparently there is photographic evidence that Desmond and I used to mud wrestle and hold hands."

For some reason Altair felt a little jealous. "Are you gonna set him straight?"

"I think I should let him figure it out on his own… He's kinda protective. Claudia was supposed to go on a date with this guy tonight but Dad scared him off."

"You think your dad is gonna scare _me_ off?" He snorted. "I'd like to see him try."

"Oh, you've never seen my dad angry, Altair… _I've _never seen him angry for that matter, but I've seen him upset and that's scary enough on its own."

"Does he go volcanic or something?"

"I've never seen him angry so I don't know, but I know it's not a good thing."

He shifted the phone to his other ear and sighed into the pillow; "Ezio, I don't think you should lie to him… He's your dad."

"I'm not lying to him… I'm just—just withholding certain truths."

Altair chuckled and they were quiet for a while, holding a grinning silence that had nothing to do with a lack of conversation.

It was a warm feeling, secret… And Ezio felt as if there were something deep connecting himself and Altair, something small and soft… something intimate. Yes, that's what it was... And he liked it.

"I miss you."

Altair sighed, a low longing sound; "Yeah."

"I… I've got so many pictures to show you when I get back. My dad racing Ferrari for one, I never would have pegged him as someone who liked to drive expensive cars in the mud."

Altair laughed picturing it… He'd never seen Giovanni out of an expensive suit, so it was kind of hard to imagine.

"Hey, what kinda movies do you like?"

He grunted; "I like scary movies… Just not exorcism flicks—I hate exorcism flicks."

"Why?"

"Have you ever seen one?"

"No."

"They're gross and I don't like them."

"But you've got a poster on your wall—"

"That's _The Omen_… Completely different. Evil kid, not possessed kid. And I've recently come to the conclusion that I hate zombie movies too."

Ezio groaned loudly; "Nooooooo! I love zombie movies!"

"Malik rented _I am Legend_ the other night and I watched it… Then the bastard scared the mortal shit out of me jumping out of the pantry when I went upstairs for some water… the bastard."

Ezio tried to hold back laughter but snorted when he couldn't.

"It's not funny! I turned on the light and he was standing there in the pantry—IN THE DARK! Eating fucking corn chips!"

"Corn chips?" He had tears in his eyes he was laughing so hard.

"He snarled and screeched and BIT me!"

"He did not!"

"Well he could have…"

"Poor baby."

"Don't poor baby me, I'll tickle you till you piss yourself when you come back."

"Ah, well sorry for you then that I'm not ticklish."

"You can't NOT be ticklish… Everyone's ticklish."

He shrugged and grinned smugly into the phone; "Sorry, not ticklish."

"Lucky… Malik and his brother used to hold me down and tickle me till I peed when I was little, they didn't stop till one day I pissed on 'em."

"Ew."

"We had a lot of fun as kids… But we'd fight a lot too, holy fuck did we fight a lot."

Ezio hummed; "Claudia and I would fight when we were little… She always liked to pull my hair or scratch me. I've got a scar under my eye where she scratched me once." He laughed.

It was so strange how an absence or loss could make all the fighting, and misery of sibling rivalry seem so pleasant.

Altair sighed knowingly and another one of those silences stretched between them.

"Hey, Ezio… I-I can tell you shit, right?"

Ezio blinked, surprised. "W-what?"

"I can tell you shit and you're not gonna go blabbing to everyone?"

And Ezio found himself in an awkward position. Suddenly faced with a new and previously unknown aspect to 'relationships'. He had trusted Altair with his own weaknesses, his fears and sadness… Now Altair wanted to trust him back.

"Yeah— I mean, no I won't tell anyone." He shifted his position in the window and blinked out over the yard watching the kittens chase insects, and a few fat pale blonde chickens peck and scratch in the dirt.

Altair cleared his throat a few times and rolled onto his side in the bed, thumping the pillow into a comfortable twist under his head; "I was messing around upstairs the other day while Malik was out shopping with the kids for school or something, and I found one of his notebooks…"

Altair's voice sounded strange, apprehensive, maybe a little ashamed, and it put Ezio's nerves on edge.

"He has a million of them, I thought it was just one he makes grocery lists in so I opened it up to write down that I needed some toilet paper and shit… but it wasn't one of his list books…"

"No?"

"No… He's like—like writing a BOOK, and I sat there and kind of read it and it was really…"

"Was it bad?"

"No… it was good, it was… I just— I… I think he hates me."

"Did he catch you reading it or something?"

"No… But he—the bad guy was basically me by a different name."

Ezio swallowed thickly, unsure what to say.

"And from the way it didn't really have a beginning or end in that one book made me wonder how many more he's got like that… I mean, how long is this thing? How long has he been working on it?" He sighed; "It just—just really bothered me. But I can't say anything because then he'll know I read it…"

"Why would that translate into him hating you?"

"Because it repeated over and over that this guy deserved to die, and that justice wouldn't be served until the evil had been vanquished… It didn't even really start bothering me until yesterday."

"Altair…"

"I just—I don't get it, you know? He said he'd forgiven me but then I find this? And on top of that he's been acting really weird all month and—"

"And now you're confused?"

He sighed; "Yeah."

Ezio nodded and let his left leg dangle out the window, swinging it back and forth as he thought. After a few minutes he let his breath out in a whoosh; "I still think you should tell him."

"Well, I still think you should tell your dad."

"Altair, that's different."

"I-I'll tell Malik if you tell your dad."

"I can't do that—"

"Why?"

"Because I just can't!"

"Ezio… are—are you ashamed of this?"

He blinked rapidly, his heart hammering. "What?"

"Just think for a minute… Do you not want to tell him because you're afraid he'll scare me off, or do you not want to tell him because you're ashamed—"

"I'm not ashamed of this. Why would you think I was ashamed of it!" He almost smacked his head on the upper window sash when he straightened up scowling at the mental image of Altair he'd created.

"I'm just trying to figure out why you don't want to tell your dad. If you're just not ready to tell him that's fine, or if you want to keep it private that's fine too, but if it's because you're self conscious, or you're worried you're not doing the right th—"

"I don't want to tell him because I know what he'll do! He'll think you're taking advantage of me, he'll try to scare you away like he does Claudia's boyfriends. I know he'll do it! He'll try to convince me that you're just a dirty old man because he thinks the same thing you did! He thinks I'm broken!"

"Then just tell him you're not—"

"It's not that simple! He doesn't know he's doing it, hell I only know he's doing it because he was so self conscious of you doing it!"

"That didn't make any se—"

"I can't tell him, Altair. He worries about me enough, he worries himself sick! Like physically SICK… He's content thinking I'm attracted to Desmond because he doesn't see Desmond as a threat to my well being—"

"And I'm a threat to your well being?"

"No, but—"

"Then what's going on?"

"I just—I don't… I'm-I'm scared, Altair." He swallowed. "I'm scared to tell him because this whole situation scares me… I want to be with you, I want to touch you and I want you to touch me, but at the same time when I think about it I can't stop myself from thinking about everyone who has ever touched me. Every man who has laid a hand on my body and it makes me _sick._ I doubt myself enough as it is and I don't need my FATHER looking at me and ASKING me if I'm sure this isn't just because of what happened to me. I want him to know that I'm doing this because I want to not because it's all I know… I want him to know that I'm with you because I love you, not because you… you—" And Ezio became horridly aware of the silence on the other end of the phone.

Blood, he'd come to realize over the years, was prone to mirror one's emotions. He'd heard the term 'so mad his blood boiled' before, and had been so mad himself that he felt burning hot all over… Now he found himself familiar with the opposite end of the spectrum…

He felt cold. Very, inexplicably freezing cold.

Frantically he played back in his mind what he'd said, what had been said to him and—

"Oh, fuck…"

"Ezio—"

And he panicked. He smashed the keypad a few times before he managed to end the call, then just held the phone in his hand like a hot potato for a few seconds staring at it with wide eyes before with a strangled little whine politely tossed it out the window and into his grandmother's flower garden.

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_OH! Another cliffhanger! *dies from the intensity of the death glares*_

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	52. Chapter 52

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_Hey, guys, sorry there wasn't a review last week, I caught the mother of all stomach bugs and haven't really eaten anything in more than 5 days. But, good news, the roof is fixed, muh hubby played Muse since Jo was absent this week, and you have four really nice length chapters with your names on them!_

_... Well, actually it's Altair and Ezio, but you get the idea._

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**Chapter 52; Harm**

Katie had never truly felt like part of the Auditore family. It wasn't through any fault of theirs, more that she was just really not used to their strange dynamic. She had been raised an only child in an Irish Catholic family. There was a certain amount of reservation just inherently present in her very DNA. An ingrained dependency on being just a little miserable in everything you do. It was how she was raised, how she had been taught and how she knew life to be. She had her place, and the image she was supposed to live up to, and after Brendan's death she had quite literally been lost in the world. She'd quit school to get married and start a family with him, and now she had no skills, no money and no plan to fall back on.

Then she'd met the smiling, happy-go-lucky young man in a class she was auditing just to take up time… Then she'd found out she was pregnant, and when her parents had tried to seclude her again, tried to pull her out of school and sequester their poor widowed daughter and her child to be with the Letroys, HE had been there as support. He'd given her such inspiration, such confidence that she could not only live comfortably on her own, but she could also, if she so decided, raise a child on her own.

And over the months of their friendship she'd fallen in love with him.

She'd fallen in love with how trusting and loving and proud he was. How different his family was from her own was like night and day. There was no reservations, and she knew it would take time to learn how to trust and love so openly and passionately.

She was learning quickly, and that feeling of just not belonging, which she understood on some level was just everything she'd known warning her that she wasn't supposed to be happy, that there was supposed to be that little bit of misery or the world wasn't in balance. That nagging, just not entirely happy feeling was starting to fade.

And what took a great and terrible chunk of that doubt away happened entirely by accident.

She, Grandpa Ezio and baby Giovanni were sitting outside in the back field on a quilt in the sun enjoying the fresh air and watching the others play a game of baseball with a broom handle and what appeared to have, at one time, been an orange, but it had dried up to a hard, lumpy brown thing that fit right into your fist.

Valencia was a star player it seemed, and when Mario tried to steal her base she grabbed him around the waist and politely picked him up, shouting to Claudia and her sister to get the ball quickly so she could tag him out!

Mario was shouting loudly his face gone very red. _"FOUL! FOUL! PUT ME DOWN! RESTRAINING A RUNNER IS AGAINST THE RULES! **FOUL!"**_

Maria hiked up her skirt, caught the 'ball' when it was tossed to her, and gave it a mighty pitch toward her sister, who had drawn Mario up under her chin like a child might do to a squirming cat, and was rubbing her cheek against his head cooing and calling him a big smelly teddy bear, tapping him on the end of the nose with the ball.

Mario looked mortified.

Giovanni, Petruccio and Federico all made the same grief-stricken face and Federico bent over, hands braced on his knees. "Someone go get Ezio!" He jerked a rigid finger toward his uncle; "He's too big and slow!"

Giovanni rubbed his forehead; "I thought 'fouls' were in basketball."

Mario snarled; "Traitors! The lot of you! G-Giovanni, help me!" He writhed, breathless, crushed between his own bulk and Valencia's.

Valencia cooed; "You're just the right size! Small enough that I can restrain you, but big enough that you won't break!"

"Maria! Maria, call her off!"

And then Grandpa Ezio had tapped Katie's arm and she'd turned, noticing the flushed, strained look on the baby's face.

"Oh, he needs a change." She nodded and thanked him, scooped up her son and waved that she would be back shortly.

When she got to the house she heard it;

"FUCK!" And Ezio practically launched himself down the stairs, eyes wide face pale. He darted through the sitting room, down the hall, through the kitchen and outside.

Katie blinked in confusion and followed at a distance, peering out the kitchen door with her brows drawn down.

Ezio was stomping around in the garden with his hair tangled in his fists, growling and cursing at himself. His face was twisted up into an unattractive mash of anger and disappointment and there was a distinct wetness on both cheeks.

"Ezio?"

He turned, crouching a little with his hands out to his sides defensively, eyes suddenly just hazel saucers in his face.

"Ezio, are you alright?"

Then she heard ringing… A cell phone to be exact, and turned her head spotting it sitting in the dirt amid the flowers, blinking brightly. She turned slowly back to Ezio, noticing how panicked he looked.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing." He didn't sound convincing.

"Why is your phone in the dirt?"

"I-I dropped it, I was looking for it."

But, why then was he just standing there letting it ring? Why didn't he look glad to have found it?

"What's wrong?"

His mouth opened, closed and opened again; "I said something… something that I shouldn't have."

Katie sighed and pursed her lips; "What is it with you guys and being intentionally vague? I don't have this weird sixth sense you all do, I can't read minds." She flipped her fingers at her brow and sighed, then shifted baby Gio on her hip; "Pick up your phone and get in here, he needs changing."

Ezio's mouth curled downward severely shoulders sagging in misery, but he trudged over to the flowers and picked up his phone, staring down at it now that it had gone quiet again.

Katie had the baby in the sitting room, changing him quickly and expertly.

Ezio asked why she'd draped the little boy's clean diaper over him and Katie looked up with her nose wrinkled;

"You've never changed a baby boy's diaper before, have you."

"No."

"They'll pee on you… No fault of their own, they just can't control it yet and it happens." She chuckled; "He peed all over your brother last night when he changed him for bed."

Ezio felt himself grinning slightly. Then with a sigh he dropped into his grandfather's chair and lowered his forehead toward his knees. His phone started ringing again, buzzing across the side table where he'd placed it.

"Okay, Ezio… Spill it, what did you say that you shouldn't have?"

He mumbled it, leaving out the specifics of the call he'd made to Altair the night before, or what they'd done, but it seemed that Katie could tell, just from his tone, or maybe it was something all women were keen on, being able to tell when you were lying or avoiding something… Maybe he was just a bad liar. But she grinned knowingly and he glanced off to the side because he feared if he looked her in the eyes he'd go all red; "And I may have, inadvertently… accidentally said I loved him…"

Her brows curled downward and her lip poked out, tugging Gio's clothes back into place. "And that's a_ bad_ thing?"

Ezio's eyes bugged; "Are you serious? I said I _loved_ him!"

"Well, _do_ you?"

He spluttered and he felt suddenly that he should be doing something with his hands.

"Ezio, if you love him it's alright… But saying it and not meaning it is… Well, it's not a good thing. You can't help what you feel any more than you can help what he feels or what he doesn't."

"But I don't_ know_ what he feels… I hung up before he could say anything."

She scowled; "You hung up on him? Is that why your phone's going nuts?"

He winced.

"Think of it this way, alright? Even if he doesn't feel exactly like you do he does care for you a lot, otherwise he wouldn't have been as understanding as he is, right? If he didn't care deeply for you he wouldn't be as considerate as you say he is. If he didn't really, honestly feel something for you, Ezio, he wouldn't be so willing to wait."

He blinked at her warily, glancing from the corner of his eye at his phone and the blinking symbol on the screen that indicated he had voice mail. He felt nauseous. "How are you so sure?"

"Two reasons… One; I know you wouldn't be in a relationship with someone unless you trusted them implicitly… Two; because I know exactly what you're going through."

Ezio sighed; "What you and my brother have—"

"Loving your brother isn't what I'm talking about."

He gave his head a shake; "What?"

She sighed and took a moment to pull Gio into her lap before she looked back to the young man seated across the room from her. "You're not the only one who has been hurt, Ezio… My uncle decided one afternoon when I was six that I needed help in the bathroom… It is really, REALLY hard to trust someone after something like that. Some people are never able to do it, for others it takes years, but for fewer still, people like you, are able to say they won't let themselves be victims." She let out a sigh; "If you've let him into your heart it's for a damned good reason, and if you are comfortable enough with this man to say that you love him, then all I ask you to do is keep seeing your therapist and if he ever does something that makes you genuinely uncomfortable, or fear for your well being, then please, PLEASE for the love of God tell someone. If you're worried what your family would say you can tell me because I KNOW and I'll help any way I can. I promise you."

He felt momentarily weightless and his breath left in a long sigh; "It's not wrong that I feel this way?"

She snorted; "No it's not wrong, it's what you feel, how could that be wrong?" She smiled when his shoulders sagged in relief. "Don't you trust yourself?"

He stiffened, wincing. It took a great deal of effort to swallow the nauseous feeling down again.

"Well,_ I_ trust you… And I promise if you're honest with yourself, you can always trust what's in your heart." She climbed slowly to her feet; "There is nothing wrong with you, you are a wonderful, beautiful person, and if you love this man he is the luckiest guy on the planet to have you at his side."

Ezio's head bowed and he tightened his hands on his knees. After a few seconds he stood and wrapped his arms around her, his voice strained as if he were on the verge of tears.

Trust had been the main issue for him since his return. Everyone had asked for his trust, it seemed to be all they wanted, Marjory had preached to him that he had to trust himself, had to trust his parents, had to trust her and the justice system… But how could he trust himself when nobody else did? How could he trust himself when everyone kept questioning his motives? When everyone looked at him as if he were mentally deficient and incapable of understanding?

The whole time he'd been back, only one person had said they trusted him. And he'd had to fight so hard to get Altair to believe in him… But Katie offered it freely, without argument, without contest. He didn't have to explain or justify himself to her at all.

"Thank you…"

Baby Giovanni fussed and struggled not liking the fact his uncle Ezio was crying into his mother's shoulder. Katie shushed him quietly and he stilled, tucking his little head under her chin with a sigh.

Katie had, before that moment, still felt somewhat alienated from the Auditore family… but it was then that she realized perhaps she did belong and maybe she did make a difference.

She wasn't sure how long Ezio stood there hugging her, but when Gio started fussing again she patted Ezio's back and kissed his cheek reassuringly, offering a gentle smile as he rubbed his eyes.

"When you're ready to talk to him again, call him back, alright?"

He nodded.

"Do you want to come out and play baseball with everyone until you calm down?"

He shook his head. "I… I owe him an explanation." He cleared his throat; "I'll come outside later."

She nodded and patted his chest. "Okay, take your time."

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Ezio climbed the stairs back to the room he his uncle and younger brother were sharing and dropped onto his face across his small bed. He laid there for a long while, phone sitting on the mattress at his hip, eerily silent, and Ezio stared at a crack in the plaster near his face.

This was decision time…

Did he really love Altair? Or had he simply spoken in the heat of their argument?

A little part of his mind ticked something off; _Our first real argument._

He inhaled deeply and let it out in a whoosh, eyes falling closed as he thought.

What was love exactly? He had so many different definitions running through his mind, so many different examples, not all of them good.

Some of the men who had hurt him had whispered that word into his ear, some of the women who he'd been obligated to try and tend to had said it in attempts to coax more out of him…

His parents said it to him every night, their eyes soft and open. Expressions warm and accepting. Maybe love was something like that? Willing to accept and understand and help you with anything you had to go through. Kissing bruised knees and bruised egos, hugs when you wanted to cry, a shoulder to lean on when you did. They loved him, would do anything for him…

His parents said it to one another, shared secret glances and kind gentle touches. But their love was also passionate, hot—Ezio remembered walking in on them once when he was six, he'd left before they'd realized his presence, but he'd never been disgusted by it the way Desmond seemed disgusted when he'd walked in on his father and one of the man's girlfriends. Ezio remembered he'd known instantly that it was something private and beautiful and he could get his own glass of water now, he was a big boy.

Katie and Federico were in love… he could see it in the way they interacted, the expressions on their faces when the other was near or their thoughts drifted to one another. They were beginning to grow those same soft lingering gazes that Maria and Giovanni shared. The complementing gestures, the way they just knew what the other wanted.

Ezio hid his face in the sheets and wracked his brain, trying to put himself out of his own body for a moment, trying to see what he shared with Altair from an outsider's point of view.

Altair was so hesitant with him sometimes, as if he were tense, uncomfortable, but in the moments where he actually let himself relax, where he left his defenses down long enough that Ezio could peek over that wall he'd built… He was so careful, so kind. So understanding and accepting and—and…

If only Altair would be so open all the time… then yes, Ezio could see himself loving him. Could admit and not be afraid to say it.

But he was afraid. He was afraid that perhaps he was wrong and Altair was only putting up with him, was only humoring him because he didn't want to say no and halt Ezio's progress.

Ezio swallowed past a hot tightness in his throat and rubbed his face on the quilt before he rolled over and plucked up his phone.

Three voice mail messages… All from Altair.

His hands shook as he pressed the phone to his ear and listened to each one.

The first was just the sound of his breath before he quickly disconnected the call, but the second…

"Hey…uh—A-are you alright? I-I—uh… You-you hung up…" His breath came out in a whoosh; "I just wanted to make sure you were alright." His teeth made a noise as they were ground together; "D-did I say something wrong?" He inhaled sharply and mumbled to himself; "Fuck that was a stupid thing to ask… Jesus." And he disconnected the call again.

The third message was mostly silent save uncertain noises as he tried multiple times to speak, and in the end he just sighed deeply, wearily; "Damnit…" And hung up.

Ezio blinked up at the ceiling then lifted his phone away and stared at the clock display. Almost an hour now…

He dialed the number slowly, trying to conjure up something to say to make himself feel less like an ass for just hanging up like he had.

Yes, he'd been scared, he still was, but he shouldn't have just hung up before Altair could say anything.

The phone rang three times before there was an answer.

"Ezio?" He sounded somehow uncertain.

"Yeah… I'm sorry I hung up on you."

He could hear the older man's breath hitch slightly, just a little thing, but he didn't get a verbal reply.

"I—um—I think we should talk."

Altair sighed, a heavy deep sound that trailed foreboding and fear like ghosts along behind it. "Okay."

"You didn't do or say anything wrong earlier, I just said something that scared me and I needed a while to think about it."

"Oh."

"Yeah… And now that I've thought about it I—I'm gonna try again, is that alright?"

"Yeah." It didn't sound very reassuring. Altair's voice was somewhat hollow and Ezio could picture that withdrawn, hesitant look the older man usually had in his eyes.

He swallowed, a little nervous now because of that sound. He didn't like that sound, or that it implied Altair was hiding something from him. So he cleared his throat and spoke in a whisper. "I… I think you should tell Malik that the book bothered you."

"Ezio… I don't want him to know I read it—"

"Well, he'll be even angrier if you don't tell him and he finds out. Hell, he probably already knows, I swear he was a spy or a mob boss or something in a past life."

Altair sighed. "I can't… I can't even look him in the eyes."

"Why not?"

"Because that—what he'd written, was really deep, really IN THERE and personal… He _hates _me, Ezio. He honest to God _HATES_ me."

Ezio fell quiet, eyes focused on somewhere above him in space. After a moment he took a deep, long breath and let it out.

Altair rolled over in his bed and his breath sounded rough, his nose clogged.

"I don't think he hates you, Altair… If he hated you I don't think he would tolerate your shit like he does." He didn't get a reply, so he just swallowed and continued; "I'm gonna tell my dad about—about us. He deserves to know. This isn't as different from what you're going through as I thought it was… I'm gonna tell my dad, even though he might get upset. And I'm gonna tell him because I'm not ashamed of this, I'm gonna tell him because I love you—" He paused nibbling his lips then shifted his head against the pillow and picked at the cracked plaster with his free hand; "I don't want you to say it back. I-I just want you to know because it's the truth."

"Ezio—"

"Just hear me out… I thought about this, and I like that you're so patient. And that you trust me—Last night, I—I liked that, a lot. And I-I'd like to do it again someday… Maybe soon. But it's not just the physical stuff. Knowing you're there, and that you support me, that you'll never push me into something I'm not ready for… It means a lot to me. You mean a lot to me, and I thought about that for a while and I realized that—that I mean it, Altair… I love you."

He was quiet for a few seconds, and when he spoke his voice was thin; "I—"

"Don't…" His heart thudded like a startled bird's; "Don't say anything… Just think about it, because I don't want you to say it back unless you really, honestly mean it. I don't want you to say it if it's only what you think I want to hear, or because I said it first… I don't want you to say anything else about that today, or tomorrow or the next day. I want you to wait until I get back, alright? And then I just want you to talk to me and tell me the truth, OK?"

He swallowed thickly; "Yeah."

Ezio's throat was tight because he could still hear that edge in Altair's voice and he could feel something cold pulling at his insides. "Are you mad?"

"No… no, I'm not mad."

"Then what's wrong? You're quiet."

"I-I just haven't heard anybody say that in years." He chuckled lightly, a sad withdrawn sound.

"Years?"

"Yeah, a long time… Too long." He cleared his throat.

"It couldn't have been years."

"It was…"

"Who?"

"I'd ra—"

"Please?"

Altair was quiet for a while, and Ezio could practically hear the wheels turning in his head. Then with a mighty sigh the older man spoke.

"I told you about Malik's brother, right?"

"Yeah… Not really any specifics, but you told me."

"Well, he—We had sex a few times… I didn't try to discourage him at all, just let him think what he wanted to, and when he—when he was killed it kinda… m-made me realize that it wasn't just sex between us. I haven't really gotten close to anyone since then. There've been a few guys but I've never let myself get attached, it hurts too much," he cleared his throat again; "Then you came along and just, just made me realize what I've been missing out on. You made me want to try… You're a lot tougher than you look."

Warmth eased into his chest and his lips curled upward a little.

Altair's breath came out in a tired chuckle; "What happened to taking it slow, huh?"

He shrugged, even though he couldn't be seen; "We are… We just started later in the game than usual."

Altair humed quietly. And after a moment groaned quietly; "Fuck, do I really have to tell him I read that thing?"

"You don't have to, but you should."

"What if he does hate me and wants me to leave after I tell him?"

Ezio chewed his tongue, wracking his brain; "Well, if he kicks you out, go and stay with Leo until I get back… And if my dad is OK with it like I'm frantically praying he will be you—you can like… like make friends with the dustbunny collection under my bed or something… We've got a fully furnished apartment down stairs and—"

"I couldn't do that… It would be too awkward. I—I'll… if he kicks me out I'll figure something out… Worst comes to worst I'll have to crash on Walker's couch for a few days or move in with Desmond." He shuddered.

Ezio hummed reassuringly; "Let's hope then that he doesn't hate you."

Altair swallowed and drew his knees a little closer to his chest. "I hope he doesn't hate me… And I hope your dad is really understanding or else I'm gonna have a really bad day I think."

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_If you take into account traditional Italian naming customs Federico would have, as the first born son, been named after Giovanni and Mario's father, Ezio after Maria's._

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	53. Chapter 53

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**Chapter 53; The Scribe's Tale **

Malik was sitting on the couch beside Hadiya when Altair crept silently up stairs on cautious socked feet. They were pressed closely together watching something mind numbingly romantic on TV and quiet sounds were coming out of the children's playroom.

Altair stood there for a few seconds with his shoulders squared and his jaw tight, hands fisted in his pockets, just watching the two of them. How they looked to somehow complement one another even though they both appeared not to have bothered changing out of their sleeping clothes that day, or the fact that Hadiya looked worn and perhaps like she had a cold with dark circles forming under her eyes.

He didn't want to disturb them. But he knew if he didn't speak now while Ezio's reassuring words were still fresh in his mind, he probably wouldn't be able to at all. For all his bravado and strength, when it came to this subject, when it came to what Malik thought about him, Altair was utterly helpless.

Malik may claim to have forgiven him, but Altair hadn't forgiven himself yet, and until he did he wouldn't truly be able to let that fear of what the older man thought go.

"Malik?"

Those dark eyes flicked to his, brows raised questioningly. He grunted but otherwise didn't speak or move.

"Can we talk?"

Brows drew down in concern and he had to work his tongue around his mouth a moment before he could speak; "About what?"

"Privately?"

Malik sighed, annoyed that he would have to get up and leave the comfortable warm spot he'd fashioned on the couch beside his wife, but after a low growl he removed his arm from around her shoulders and climbed to his feet, padding over with his hand propped on his hip. "What?"

Altair wouldn't look at him, his eyes focused somewhere at his hairline and Malik wondered perhaps if he didn't have a few gray hairs sprouting there to draw the younger man's focus so… He rubbed the spot compulsively.

"Well, spit it out already, I don't have all day."

And Altair did spit it out, a quick mash of words that Malik would be willing to bet would have made Desmond proud. He caught only a few words of it, 'grocery list, notebook, so sorry, didn't mean to— and then; "Do you really hate me that much?"

And there was something there, in those dull amber eyes. Something hurt that reminded him of the day he'd been out walking and spotted the filthy stained hood, and that unmistakable flash of tarnished gold irises set above fever flushed cheeks and scratches layered over old bruises.

It was something broken and distinctly unpleasant because it made Altair look vulnerable. Made him look like the young man he'd dragged by his hood into the building and shoved at a couch. The young man who had remained perfectly still and silent, hands folded as if he were perhaps cupping the delicate soft body of a small moth, face turned toward the floor while Malik ranted at him.

Malik gave his head a shake to clear it and took a step back; "What?"

Altair raised his head and focused his gaze farther away, somewhere on the ceiling. "You went to the store with the kids the other day and I came up here and there was this book on the table and I—I read it…"

Malik knew instantly, simply from Altair's reaction, not that he remembered leaving THAT notebook out because he could have sworn they were tucked safely in his box under his side of the bed.

"I just—I don't get it. Do you hate me or not?"

Malik shoved his hand through his hair and with a growl caught Altair's jacket by the sleeve and tugged him toward the stairs, grumbling under his breath.

Altair followed him because he didn't really have much of a choice.

Bedroom doors were open and Altair could see that Gadil and Zafir's bunk beds were uncharacteristically unmade, and Saree was lying amid a mound of pillows in her room with her ankles crossed delicately paging through a magazine and listening to soft music, she didn't pay any attention as they passed.

And Altair found himself pulled into Malik and Hadiya's bedroom, and given a gentle but firm shove toward a chair beside the window. He eased into it solemnly and fisted his hands together between his knees.

Malik paced for a few seconds, rubbing his palm against the leg of his pants and gnawing his tongue.

He looked as if perhaps he were just plainly fighting with himself, instead of fighting an urge to murder him, which surprised Altair. But what surprised him even more was what happened next.

Malik dropped into a crouch and pulled what looked like a big black shoebox from under his bed, then plopped into the floor on his butt and popped it open.

Inside was a stack of composition notebooks. Black covers with the white lined plate on the front, just like dozens of others he had all around the building. The only thing that was different was that in each of these plates, scratched lightly in pencil, were numbers. He sighed deeply, nervously… And pushed the box toward Altair's feet.

"Read them… And when you're done we'll talk."

"Malik—"

"They don't leave this room, understand?" He climbed to his feet and leveled a finger in Altair's face, scowling. "This is private, I've never let anybody else read them."

"But, Ma—"

And he turned, stomping out of the room and was gone.

Altair stared down at the box as if perhaps it were full of venomous snakes. Why had he let Ezio convince him that this was a good idea?

After a few minutes of just staring at them, he took a deep breath for courage, and lifted the box onto the small side table and began picking through them, stacking them in numerical order—And he started to read.

Two pages into the notebook with a little numeral '1' scratched into the plate and Altair felt like throwing up.

He hadn't been sure, reading the other notebook a few days before, but now he knew that this had been written with himself in mind… It had also been written with Kadar and Malik himself in mind as well.

The characters practically were them, set back hundreds of years from the present day.

He forced himself on, once or twice having to stop and scrub his face on his sleeve.

1 was horrific. Bloody and the character based on him was just a vile, hateful jerk… 2, the volume he'd read already, seemed worse now that he'd read its predecessor. The hunt the character based on Malik went on to find this evil man, chronicling his pain and battle with an opium addiction.

Altair could only just force himself to pick up 3… And that's when he noticed a change. Just little things, historical happenings thrown in, adding a bit of an actual plot to it, how the two enemies maneuvered one another during these trying times. 4 was perhaps just a continuation of 3, more bits and pieces of history thrown in, and a hint… A single line;

_'I saw him, standing there, just for a moment cast in eerie light, a weary twinge of his brow and a shadow over his eyes I had never seen before.' _

5 was full of notes, not much story, bits and pieces perhaps to be used later, sketches of landmarks, lines of poetry. 6 was back to the battle, and there was something entirely different now. Within the first ten pages the 'hero' was fighting with some stranger, _'All silver and black, like the moon and stars. 'Cold and merciless he struck at me until with a final blow I felt something in my chest break, yet when I looked up to accept my fate, resigned that I never would avenge my brother, I saw I was entirely alone amid the dunes and there was not a drop of blood to be found anywhere.'_

It was dreamlike this volume. The main character was traveling, following his enemy across the desert to an ancient city beside the sea. Throughout this whole section of story the two enemies didn't get any closer than within far sight of one another. And this strange silver and black guy kept showing up; _'I lay there silently, as if death had stolen over me and driven the soul from my body, listening to the distant crash of steel and familiar battle cries amid that unnatural silence that preceded The Knight. I knew, simply by the thrum of the earth beneath me that it was not only I who this ghost pursued_.'

7 was more notes, most of them this time on revision, strange things that seemed vaguely familiar from twelfth grade English and Literature. As well as more sketches, some taking up whole pages. Images of a giant of a thing in dark angry pencil marks, hollow white eyes and sharp points to his armor, as well as a few of impossible stretches of desert, or fictional ancient cities.

8 was just Malik, one or two pages of story followed by compulsive lists, baby names, columns of numbers of addition and subtraction. A few random phone numbers or addresses, and awkwardly placed journal entries about this and that;

_'January 8, VA appointment today, decided against prosthetic, it was uncomfortable and ugly to look at. I don't want to scare the baby when it comes. Called Dad and invited him out to dinner, he said he wasn't feeling well, maybe next week.'_

_'March 25, I'm a father. She was born at __six twenty two__ this morning and she came out screaming with a full head of hair. She looks like my mother. We decided to name her Saree after the policewoman who drove us to the hospital. I don't know how it's possible that something so beautiful could be part of me. I was surprised the doctors let me hold her, I was shaking so badly I was afraid I'd drop her. I will never tell her I will NEVER tell her.'_

_'April 12, We went to see my dad today, he cried holding Saree. I don't think I've ever seen him cry before.' _

_'bread, milk, pancake mix, toaster waffles, baby diapers LOTS of diapers'_

And 9… 9 started right where 6 left off. Entering the ancient port city, a war was brewing, history was coming to life and there, on the battlefield amid the fray their eyes meet;

_'I felt my lips roll back, like a dog readying to bite, and through the dust and crushing bodies I saw his eyes, and within them I saw myself, a perfect image of everything in him I so despised. I looked at him, a reflection of my pain and sorrow and emptiness, and I saw myself… He gazed at me, and saw the monster he once was.'_

The rest of the book was blank. There was no end to the story, no definite answer to his question…

Altair felt cheated.

He swallowed thickly and glanced up at the digital alarm clock on the dresser. His eyes felt dry and gritty and when he pushed himself to his feet. He was still tender and a little sore in his backside, but it wasn't an entirely unpleasant ache. What was unpleasant though, was the soreness in his back.

Downstairs Malik and Hadiya were still on the couch, Hadiya was nibbling at a piece of toast and had a bottle of water tucked under her arm. The kids were gathered around lounging in the floor or across a chair, all eyes intent on the TV. Gadil was 'discretely' picking his nose and staring dully at the screen… Altair thought it was _The Karate Kid_.

Malik seemed to sense his presence because he turned his head casually and blinked at Altair for a moment before, with a sigh, he stood and shuffled quietly over. He lead the younger man into the kitchen without a word and stood there for a few minutes just staring at him.

His voice was quiet, indulgent and without even the pretense of malice.

"When—when I started writing it I hated you. I wrote as a way to deal with my stress… You know my father, at the time he wasn't the kind of person to display his emotions, or look too kindly upon those who did. I had no other way to get it out. It helped at first, but the more I poured it out through Them, the clearer my own problems became… I don't hate you."

"You don't?" he sounded genuinely surprised. Maybe even a tad bit hopeful.

"No, Altair, I don't hate you… You're hard to live with sometimes, and you can be a little irritating, but I do not hate you."

His shoulders slumped in relief and he sagged against the counter as if all his strength had been sapped away.

"I'd even hazard to say I was a little fond of you… You're—you're like a-a—" He twirled his hand as he struggled for the word; "A—uh… A really ugly lamp."

Altair's nose wrinkled up.

"It sits there in the corner and you tell yourself every time you see it how it doesn't go with the curtains, but the longer it sits there the more you get used to its presence, and if you get rid of it or something happens to it, you miss it."

Altair's eyebrow crooked up to match his nose.

"You know what I mean."

"You've called me some very interesting, and colorful things in the past, but an ugly lamp? You really think I'm like an ugly lamp?"

"You're missing the point." Malik growled and rolled his head on his shoulders. Then with a put upon sigh he propped his fist on his hip again and scowled; "You're part of the family, you ungrateful bastard, why would you let something I wrote over ten years ago get to you like this!"

"I didn't know you wrote it ten years ago…"

"I date everything in the same place, you know that. Did you not look?"

Altair glanced away sheepishly; "I was a little too involved in the fact it said repeatedly that you wanted me dead."

Malik rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "You're hopeless."

"Sorry…"

Malik ground his teeth. Sometimes he absolutely hated the word 'sorry'. The kids used it so much he had begun to doubt that they even really knew what it meant, and Altair used it almost as much.

Yes, he hated 'sorry' with a vengeance.

"It's alright… Just—I don't hate you. I swear to you, I don't. I am not HIM, I'm ME, Altair. I grew and changed just like you did. I am not that person, and you aren't either. It may have started out being about us, but it didn't end up like that… It changed when I started realizing that you weren't the only one who made mistakes that day." He sighed; "I feel like we've had this conversation a hundred times…" He gripped Altair's sleeve and forced their eyes to meet. "I do not hate you. I do not wish you dead. The worst I've wished on you lately was a case of diarrhea."

He felt his mouth twitch in amusement and silence stretched between them for a few minutes, the stress and tension slowly melting. Altair scratched behind his ear and attempted to change the subject, hoping he could successfully put the subject to rest this time.

It really did feel like they'd done this before.

"Is Hadiya OK? She doesn't have a cold does she? Cause if she does you're gonna get sick."

"No, she's just not sleeping well."

"She sleeps all the time." Altair cleared his throat and shifted gingerly on his feet; "What's going on with you two, you've been acting crazy lately."

"Nothing, everything's fine."

Altair's eyebrow cocked up again disbelievingly; "That was the biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard come out of your mouth."

Malik swallowed with some difficulty and glanced toward the couch, then back to Altair. He didn't want to admit it, ever really, but Altair actually was good at figuring things out. He just KNEW it seemed… And since he didn't want the younger man digging and prying and possibly letting everyone know, Malik just sucked it up and, with a groan, shoved his hair off his brow; "What I'm about to tell you goes no further, understand? Nobody else can know."

Altair's stomach bubbled but he nodded.

Malik wetted his lips and leaned his hip against the counter, shoving his hand into the pocket of his sweats. "H-Hadiya's pregnant again, she… she's having twins."

Altair felt like maybe this was a big joke… Until Malik opened his mouth again.

"One's a boy and the other's a girl… A-and we decided to name the boy after my brother."

He wondered briefly if maybe this wasn't all just a big ruse to break his mind and spirit, but then Malik looked up at him and there was something in his eyes that Altair hadn't seen in years.

Peace.

Altair forced himself to swallow.

This was something new… Unfamiliar, and that strange deepness he'd always felt inside, that same tingling he felt through the earth and the air that reminded him of déjà vu, that made history so fascinating, seemed to hone in on this exact moment. As if perhaps a cycle that had been flowing in endless circles for all eternity had just come to a sudden and abrupt halt.

"We're not telling anyone yet because it would just be too traumatic for her parents and the kids if she had another miscarriage."

Altair nodded. He remembered that well, Zafir had been ten months old and Hadiya had found out she was pregnant. It had really been a shock and Malik had seriously considered having a vasectomy because it was just ridiculous, maybe he'd even sue the condom company or something. How could it happen, they'd been careful!

After a few days of thinking about it they'd accepted it, and become very, very excited. They'd told the children, her parents, his father, their friends, started discussing names and colors to paint the nursery… And then one afternoon she'd started spotting—

Altair never wanted to see that stark, all encompassing panic in Malik's face ever again as he'd ushered the children down to Altair's office without warning and left without a word.

Altair remembered because Hadiya had been in the hospital for a week and he'd had to take care of the kids, with Desmond's help, while Malik stayed with her. Not that he'd minded, he had after all agreed that they could call him 'uncle'. He'd changed his share of diapers and bandaged cuts and bruises, but there was a difference between taking care of something little like a scrubbed knee or a dirty diaper and watching the kids while their parents struggled to save the life of their soon to be sibling… A big difference.

It had been a horrible, ugly situation, especially when the hospital care had been less than standard, leaving Hadiya sitting there in the emergency room for six hours while she bled…

They had been too angry to mourn for almost five months… until that due date had rolled around and there was no new baby.

Altair had only seen Malik cry in his adult life once before in happiness when Saree had been born, but this was something completely different watching the older man just break… It had been so substantial he'd seen it happen as if Malik's soul were visible. He had just sagged and some of the light in his eyes had just… just gone and never returned. And Altair never wanted to experience something like that again, never wanted Malik and Hadiya to experience something that utterly hellish again.

For almost a month and a half afterward they had been completely inconsolable. Altair had honestly thought their marriage would end because of it… But they had seemed to come out stronger as a family. Normalcy returning slowly, that wounded part of their spirits ever present but over time adapted to.

Altair could understand completely why Malik and Hadiya were keeping it a secret. "I think he would have liked having a baby named after him."

Malik snorted and rolled his eyes; "He would have thought it was annoying, but he secretly would have enjoyed it." He sighed; "You honestly cannot tell anyone. Not even Ezio."

"I won't."

"Good." He squared his shoulders, controlled mask slipping back into place, turned and fished a bottle of water from the fridge, twirling his thumb and index finger to get the cap off then downing half of it in one go.

"Malik?"

He hummed and wiped a drip of water off his chin with his wrist.

"H-how does it end?"

His brows drew downward severely. "How does what end?"

"What you've written? There wasn't an end to it."

Malik blinked, surprised; "What does it matter? I don't need it anymore, and I didn't write it for anyone to read to begin wi—"

"It really was—it was good, Malik. You should finish it."

His eyes seemed confused, but his expression was somewhere between awe and shock. Altair thought it was a strange look and scratched at the back of his neck nervously.

"You… you thought it was good?"

He nodded. "It-it pulls you in and throws you around like it owns you… it was _good,_ like good enough to publish."

Malik paled a little, but didn't say anything, just continued to stare at him.

"Well, even if you don't—I-I'd like to know how it ends, even if it's with death and all… It deserves to be finished."

And when the older man just continued to stare at him, Altair became entirely too aware of himself, and left quickly, shuffling numbly back down stairs and dropping across his bed with his face hidden in the quilt.

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	54. Chapter 54

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**Chapter 54; Privacy **

Italy was beautiful, even in the rain.

It had rained now for almost three days, but Ezio didn't mind.

Almost everyone was crowded into the kitchen and sitting room talking and telling stories or playing with cards. Uncle Mario was exhaustedly lying across his bed scrubbing at his mouth while he scanned through a book he'd produced out of nowhere. It seemed to Ezio that his uncle enjoyed romance novels in just about any language he could find.

The windows were open, and the rain pattered down off the eves. Ezio leaned his chin on his arms, watching it, fog rolling off the hills, veiling everything in silver. He could almost imagine characters in antique clothing riding horses across the horizon.

The rain had become a secret thing, a significant thing, and letting his eyes close, a cool breeze shifting a few misty droplets to land on his cheeks, hair whipping back, he smiled.

Rain… He liked the rain. Liked remembering Altair's jacket stretched over their heads, wet and sticking to their hands and forearms, shoes soaked and squishing rudely with each step. Hair damp and clinging to faces and necks. Those gold eyes smiling as they talked over the sound of it.

Even if Altair complained about having wet shoes and cold feet, he still smiled so genuinely, laughed quietly, a sound it felt to Ezio was meant only for them.

He held his hand out the window and caught a stream of water in his palm, watching it roll and splash and drip off his fingers, feeling its coolness, breathing deeply the clean, fresh scent in the air. Wet, fertile soil, grass and that cool crisp smell of mist. It was so much different than Chicago, where the rain always smelled like hot asphalt, car exhaust and brine and left your skin itchy.

Here the rain fell clean, kissed the ground and grass and trees and plants clean and pure, washed away all sign of man and the industrial. Cleansed everything it caressed…

He could feel his heart beating, and became so suddenly and perfectly aware of himself and the world around him he felt as if perhaps he'd been touched by God.

He didn't know, and wouldn't ever truly be able to explain what came over him at that moment, his mother would call it madness, his grandmother would screech and say he was possessed, but in truth it was something completely different.

"EZIO!"

Mario bellowed his name and launched himself off the bed, grabbing at his nephew's legs as the young man politely climbed onto the window ledge… and jumped.

Down stairs Maria heard her mother scream and turned to the window in time to see her son land in the grassy front yard, rolling head over heels before he came to his feet and just started running.

Excitement was something Auditore men had just been born to crave, but years of living in cities away from the true purpose of it had made them inactive in such things… But seeing his brother go flying out of nowhere like that across the field woke something up in Federico, and in turn, like a domino effect, Giovanni as well as Petruccio felt a quickening of their pulse as well.

It must have had something to do with the composition of the soil, the natural magnetism of quartz or something like that… but something within them shook off a layer of dust and for the first time in their lives, AWOKE.

They became aware of it, what it was they didn't know, but they knew only that Ezio was after something, he was on the hunt, and they should be as well.

Petruccio, so unused to feeling impulses that didn't revolve around his girlfriend or studying the avian population, moved first. He sat his water glass down so quickly it scooted a good six inches across the table, his cell phone dropped unnoticed from his hand to the rug and he was running.

Mario took the stairs three at a time, almost running nose first into his niece as she stared in shock at the retreating form of her older brother out the window, and off he went as well.

Giovanni and Federico tussled child like in the doorway trying to shove one another out of the way as they darted toward the door as well.

The grass was wet and heavy and slapped mercilessly at their legs as they ran, soaking shoes and slacks and jeans alike, but Ezio was slowing now, stumbling blindly as he stripped his shirt over his head, tossed it to the side and was off again, yanking the zipper of his jeans down—

"Oh, God he's going on a streak!" Mario felt his face heating up. He wouldn't admit it unless he'd had quite a lot to drink, but he'd been a little fond of streaking in his childhood.

Ezio disappeared over the crest of the hill.

Giovanni groaned miserably and almost tripped over a bit of field stone protruding from the ground. What was Ezio doing? Where was he going and why in God's name was he taking off his clothes to do it! "What was he doing? Was he acting depressed?"

Mario snorted; "He was sitting at the window grinning and watching it rain, the next thing I know he's off like a fucking pigeon!"

They made it to the top of the hill, all of them soaked now, and saw a pale blur ahead of them. Rushing at the little dammed off part of the stream that ran near the edge of the property.

Ezio made an awkward looking leap off a protruding rock, arms pin-wheeling legs hiked up, underwear soaked and clinging to his thin hips, and he released a loud whoop, clapped a hand over his nose and disappeared into the water with a mighty splash. He bobbed up again a few seconds later, just as his father, uncle and brothers were approaching.

Giovanni slowed to a stop beside the water, bent forward with his hands on his knees scowling severely at his son; "What the hell are you thinking!"

Ezio dunked his head under again and casually flipped his hair out of his face. He smiled innocently, blindingly, "It's alright. It's clean!"

"It most certainly is not clean!" He motioned up the hill; "This stream comes off the neighboring farm, cows and horses and fucking goats drink out of it and here you are s-swimming in it in the RAIN!"

Ezio made a rude farting noise by poking his tongue out. "Horse shit! It's clean!" He wiped it out of his eyes, that strange urge sated, and he waded to the shore, heaving himself out onto the rocks and crossing his arms tightly over his chest, standing there shivering violently and dripping.

Giovanni glared at him as if perhaps he wanted to shout… Then he did; "What were you thinking! You—you jumped out of a window, you could have broken your leg again!"

"I'm fine… c-cold but f-fine." He blasted air between his teeth to clear water from his mouth and blinked sheepishly out at them.

Giovanni growled warningly and gave his son a look that said he wanted to ground him or yell some more, but desired more to make sure Ezio didn't catch hypothermia in the cold rain. So he gripped that chilled pale elbow and lead Ezio back toward the house with a firm hand, grumbling the whole time; "You could have gone down the stairs, could have said something. You didn't need to just run off like a maniac. You scared your grandmother half to death… Did you even think about the fact you could have hurt yourself? What if you'd landed wrong and broken your legs? There are arteries in the legs, you could have ruptured one and bled to death before we could have gotten you to the hospital!"

"You and Uncle Mario used to—"

"That is different!"

"How is it—"

"We know how, you do not!"

Ezio growled in annoyance and shrugged out of his father's grip, pausing to retrieve his discarded jeans and his shirt. He grumbled as he was practically flanked by his father and uncle and passed Federico a sour look, turning his head to give Petruccio one too for good measure… But found he got only impressed grins from them in return.

Mama growled at him and fussed and squished his face between her hands begging him with those big teary eyes to please, never do that again. Grandmother did the same, sobbing and swatting him in the chest as she rubbed her eyes with the other hand then gripped her heart and hugged him tightly.

He was pushed upstairs and, humiliatingly enough, was sat into the bath tub like a child Grandmother crying and sobbing as she used the sprayer on him. He just sat there apologizing repeatedly in mumbled tones and covering himself, too afraid that she would swat the back of his head again if he tried to convince her to leave, or objected too the harsh scrubbing she gave him with a giant orange sponge and waxy looking gray soap.

Ezio lamented silently that it wasn't the pretty marbled green soap Altair used, this stuff smelled funny and left his skin feeling raw and dry.

He slunk to bed an hour later, not bothering to go down for dinner, he didn't want everyone looking at him like that… All disappointed and irritated. He didn't really know why he'd done it, only that he just HAD TO. The world had smelled and been so clean and he'd wanted all that yuck he felt under his skin to be washed away too… It hadn't really worked, but he'd felt a little better… Until now.

Now he felt stupid, and his legs and knees ached… So he just climbed into bed and stared at the picture of Altair's little lonely finger for a few minutes before he gave up and rolled over, stuffing his phone under his pillow and listening to the sound of rain pattering down on the roof, and the drip of a leak into a pail in the corner.

He must have dozed off, that's the only way he could explain the fact his father entered the room and sat on the bed beside him and he didn't know, he just became aware of his father's distinct smell and the feel of a warm, heavy hand petting over his head.

He didn't open his eyes, just continued to lay there and listen to the rain on the roof and his father's breathing.

"Are you unhappy, Ezio?" Giovanni's voice was full of concern.

"No, I'm very happy… Just not right now. Right now I'm tired."

He hummed in acknowledgement but his hand kept stroking, pushing those long locks back so he could see his son's face. "Why did you do that today? You scared me to death."

His brows curled downward slightly; "I just had to… I don't know why. It—It seemed like a good idea at the time."

Giovanni chuckled under his breath. "If you wanted to go swimming you could have asked… There are quite a few better suited places than an old cattle pond."

He shrugged one shoulder lightly; "It was just the first place I saw."

His father hummed again and was quiet for a few breaths.

"Papa?"

"Yeah?" He smiled at a little curl of hair at his son's ear, remembering how Maria had always kept his hair cut short as a child because when he'd been only a few months old some old woman had thought he was a girl because of those two small little 'C's of hair at each side of his head.

Ezio swallowed thickly but didn't move, didn't open his eyes; "Papa, Federico said you thought I had a crush on Desmond…"

Giovanni went tense for a moment and his voice lowered; "Oh?"

"I… I wanted to talk to you about that, because I think you deserve to know the truth and I-I don't want to hide it from you." He wetted his lips and shifted a little, uncomfortable under his father's gaze, and decided it would just be best to say it. He wasn't ashamed, there was no reason to drag it out unnecessarily; "I don't have a crush on Desmond… I'm in love with Altair."

A charge, like electricity went through Giovanni and his teeth clicked together.

Ezio didn't move, didn't open his eyes and look out at him… Just lay there silently, his left hand curled under his cheek, his right on the pillow by his face, blankets drawn up to his chin. There was only a little tension in him, wary, but not defensive.

"In love…"

"Yes."

"With Altair…"

"Yes."

The rain batted against the window, driven by wind and Ezio wondered absently who'd closed it, that he missed the smell of it.

"He's ten years older than you, Ezio. Are you sure—"

"I'm sure, Papa." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Again, there was not a single defensive tone in his voice. Just a calm statement of fact.

"Has he pressured you?"

"No."

Giovanni swallowed, trying to draw moisture into his mouth. This was so unexpected. He'd been comfortable with the idea of his son and Desmond together, Desmond was silly and innocent and barely had any sex drive at all. The kid was more interested in video games and old movies… It had seemed safe—This though…

Giovanni knew for a fact Altair was not at all innocent. He had done research on the PI before hiring him years ago, he knew about the younger man's upbringing in the Hayes house, knew that Altair's biological mother had died of ovarian cancer on his tenth birthday, he even knew that the PI's name had been changed twice in his lifetime… One of which he was sure Altair himself didn't even know about.

"Has he tried to take adva—"

"No."

He swallowed again, tasting something bitter in the back of his throat, stomach a painful hot stone in his middle; "What has he done then?"

Ezio tongued the backs of his teeth and cleared his throat; "He talks to me, asks what bothers me, what doesn't. We have rules… My rules. He lets me make the decisions on what we do and when—"

"Are you ready for that? I don't want you rushing into something because he—"

"I won't do anything I'm not ready to do." His heart was racing. He could feel the unease and distrust rolling off his father like heat; "I'm not ready for anything more than what we already have. But I do love him… I can feel it."

"I don't want him hurting you, Ezio." His voice was quiet, worried, protective, and it made Ezio's heart pound even harder. "You were hurt so much already. I don't want you to have to endure that again."

"I was hurt… But I'm not ruined. Just trust me… Please. I'll be careful. I'm still going to see Marjory, and I promise I'll talk to you, I won't hide anything from you."

The silence that followed was thick and oppressive and made Ezio nervous, but then his father shifted, shoulders slumping.

Giovanni took a deep breath and let it out. "Is he good to you, Ezio?"

"I think so."

"You think?"

"We talk, and when we went to the cooking studio it was a lot of fun…"

Giovanni groaned inwardly remembering that… He'd agreed, he'd agreed to Ezio spending the night with this man, had listened while Ezio spoke of KISSING him. He'd agreed to let his son stay in the same bed with this man!

"I was scared at first that night, I had nightmares, but he sat with me, held my hand and helped me calm down… He annoyed me asking over and over if I was sure I was alright and if I wanted to call you to come and get me… W-we haven't really done a lot other than that…" He blushed and with a deep breath and a tight jaw spoke; "We've kissed and we… we've _talked_ on the phone—"

"Talked? You m—you mean you've _talked_… on the phone?" His face went a little red.

"It was nice…"

"Are you alright now… doing that?" He fingered the edge of the quilt nervously, grinding his teeth because he truly was uncomfortable talking about it, but Ezio had brought it up and he had promised never to refuse him.

"I-I've done it a few times, by myself, but this… I wanted it differently but I couldn't—" His breath hitched and his fingers tightened on the pillow; "I tried to touch _there_ but I… I couldn't."

"You couldn't?"

"I got scared… I mean I-I want it, but I just—I'm not ready for that yet and I don't know if I ever will be and it hurts."

"Why does it hurt? If you're not ready you're not ready… Is he pushing you to—"

Ezio chuckled and finally his eyes opened, shifting to look up at his father, wiping the moisture from his face; "He's not pushing me, Papa. I just…" He rolled his eyes; "It's frustrating… I've dreamed about it, enjoyed dreaming about it, but I can't even… can't even do it to myself in reality."

Giovanni gave his head a shake; "Then you're pushing yourself… Don't push yourself, don't jump into anything you're obviously not ready for." He thought carefully for a few minutes, gaze turned inward, and with a sigh through pursed lips he glanced back to his son's face; "You don't have to have sex to display your affection. Your m-mother and I were married before we h-had i-intercourse," He cleared his throat and turned his eyes to the ceiling; "But we'd—" He made a rolling hand motion and his nose wrinkled slightly, teeth exposed in an awkward expression of thought; "—We'd expressed ourselves in other ways before that… We-we would—"

His father's face was red as a brick and there was a tense appearance to his features. But the man hadn't objected, hadn't said he disapproved. He hadn't outright said he was angry about Altair, even though he was obviously uncomfortable with the idea. And the fact he was trying to offer intimate advice made the worry Ezio had been carrying in his heart lessen somewhat.

"Papa?"

He offered a pinched, indulgent smile and raised eyebrows.

"I love you and I appreciate you trying to help… But you're my parents, and I really don't want to hear about what you and Mom used to do together before you were married." He wrinkled his nose up.

Giovanni seemed to deflate with an inaudible _'Oh, thank God!'_ and the flush in his cheeks faded. He cupped his forehead and bowed in on himself in relief.

"I know there are other ways… But sex is really all I know a-and it'll take some time to overcome the urge to fall back on what's routine."

Giovanni nodded and looked up again an expression of clarity on his face. "I just don't want to see you hurt."

He nodded; "I know that, I just need to trust myself, and I need you to trust me as well."

For a long few minutes his father just stared at him. Quietly, with his brows scrunched together and a hand on his stomach. The air between them was tense, uncertain, and Ezio could practically feel a little war being fought within his father. A battle against the urge to protect his children from every hurt and misfortune, and the knowledge that he couldn't always be there, that he did have to trust them and trust what he and his wife had taught them and what they, as individuals, thought for themselves.

Giovanni sighed, a deep long sound like wind through the trees and for the first time Ezio didn't see the all powerful grand figure he had as a child, he saw a man, thin and a tired looking with a few frizzy places in his gray flecked hair, smiling reverently in a soft crooked way.

"You really love him?"

Ezio swallowed the dry feeling in his throat. "Yeah."

"You've told him so?"

He hesitated, but after a second nodded.

"What did he say?"

Ezio glanced to the side; "I… I kind of hung up on him afterward, I had to think about it for a while, but when I called him back I told him not to say anything, that I just wanted him to think about it and we'd talk when I get back… That I didn't want him to say it back unless he meant it. Was that stupid?"

"No."

Ezio took a deep breath and let it out in a whoosh; "W-what if he doesn't say it back? I-I'm OK with waiting for it, but what if he doesn't say it back ever?"

"What if he does say it back?"

Ezio stiffened, eyes wide.

"Ezio, if he doesn't say it back it may hurt, but it's a risk we all endure. Love can only be given, never taken. And if he's not willing, or is unable to give it then the world is a sadder place for it. Love is in such very short supply now-a-days as it is."

"You're not mad?"

Giovanni sighed and sat back with his hands on his knees; "I'm not overjoyed, but then again I wasn't overjoyed when Federico brought Katie home either and now look at me." He tilted his head to the side a little and gripped his son's hand; "I want to talk to him, I need to reassure myself that he's not just trying to hurt you."

"You don't trust me…"

"No, quite the opposite. I do trust you," His brows curled downward; "I just don't trust _him._ Don't look at me like that, it's a father's liberty and I have to KNOW before I'll be appeased… It's nothing against you, or him, I-I just don't want you hurt and I have to hear it from his mouth that he won't harm you."

Ezio's teeth clicked as he shut his mouth, but he didn't argue. He felt a similar urge on occasion as well. "You're not going to beat him up, are you?"

"Not unless he deserves it."

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_Who would win in a fight against Giovanni and Altair?_

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	55. Chapter 55

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**Chapter 55; I Dream in Technicolor**

Ezio said goodbye to his grandparents the next morning, kisses and hugs and soft tears into his collar.

They were off to Venice for two days with Valencia, shopping and eating and staying in her oversized house just outside of the city. Claudia flirted at boys left and right and snuck out on a few dates, coming back with a grin on her face smelling of wine and cigar smoke. Ezio filled up his second one Gig memory card with pictures and video.

It was strange having to tell himself not to call Altair, freezing mid dial and having to shove his phone into Federico or Katie's hands to keep himself from calling… But he'd made a choice. No talking until he got home… Stupid choice though it may be.

But it was nice to just spend time with his family having fun. Running down a street racing his brothers just because he could, laughing and snapping photos of the architecture and the canals and distant Poveglia Island—

And that's when he found it.

An old, weathered book shop set at the end of a street.

Inside there were hundreds of antique books, all of them creepy and weird looking—Ezio jumped on them, a strange light in his eyes.

Claudia stared at him as if perhaps he'd gone a little crazy, and when she looked at her father for help on the subject he merely shrugged like he didn't know either.

And Saturday they were off again, driving cross country to Rome hoping to get into the Vatican City for Sunday morning mass.

Ezio didn't really consider himself religious, but the trip was fun just the same. He took video and photos when he was allowed for Leo. The blonde hated cameras but it was better than nothing, maybe one day he'd be able to bring his friend here. He could just imagine those big blue eyes all wide and sparkling in awe of everything, he'd be like a kid in a candy store.

_I'd never be able to get him to leave!_

They took tours most of the day, stood in a big group and listened to the Sunday morning message and left the Vatican that evening for their hotel.

Ezio was exhausted, and collapsed across the bed he and Petruccio would be sharing onto his face and stayed there until three that morning… When he was woken by a very unwelcome, and frightening sound—

His father's phone rang.

Giovanni grunted and groped for it, slurring out a hello that stopped mid way out of his mouth.

Ezio strained his ears, focused on the sounds on the other end of the phone.

"What?" His father sounded so completely shocked; "W-what do you mean… You can't be serious!"

"'Vanni?" Maria said sleepily, rolling onto her back to blink dazedly up at her husband.

He covered the mouthpiece of the phone and turned to his wife, eyes wide, face pale, and whispered in a shaking voice; "I-it's Chief Hayes… S-someone broke into the house."

Maria was instantly awake, and Ezio felt as if his stomach had turned to lead.

"What? Did hey take anything?" Her eyes were wide.

Giovanni shook his head, one hand instantly on his stomach, applying a great amount of pressure. "They broke in and vandalized…" His breath hitched and he leaned his forehead into his wife's, his lips moving but almost no sound coming out.

Ezio cracked his eyes open and peered out in horror.

"They broke in and vandalized Ezio's room."

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He thought coming home would be a joyous occasion… He'd be able to see Altair, and they would be able to talk, maybe there would be that grinning, blushing familiarity just looking at one another again after their conversation that night on the phone.

Ezio had wondered if Altair would grin softly at him, in that quiet, secret way…

He'd envisioned the PI waiting for him at the airport, hands shoved into his pockets, looking out of place and uncomfortable in the crowd, but there for him in spite of it. Instead there was Detective Hayes and three other officers and Altair was nowhere to be seen.

He felt abandoned, alone… And everyone was looking at him sadly, worriedly as they were led out of the terminal into unmarked police sedans and escorted from the Airport.

It was an ugly experience.

The sky was dark and heavily clouded, and everything looked unfriendly, hateful… Mean.

The only spot of color in the gray was sitting on the curb outside the police guarded house.

Altair was wearing a blue t-shirt under his standard white jacket, and he had a stick picking in the little gravel and debris in the street. He looked up and his face was grim, but his eyes were intent.

Ezio's heart thudded in his chest.

Altair hadn't been at the airport, but here he was sitting on the curb in the dark and from the look of him he'd been there for hours, waiting where he would be needed most.

And the fact he was sitting there and not talking with the police officers milling around behind their caution tape, told Ezio two things… This wasn't Altair the PI. This was Altair the man.

Walker took Giovanni and Maria aside, leaving everyone else just standing there staring at their house and all the strange police officers going in and out as they pleased.

The front door was broken in, and just looking at it made Ezio's throat tighten up so much it was physically painful to breathe.

It was hard to look at his house, that place of sanctuary, and see part of it broken. It looked wrong… Like a pale reflection of what truly was.

This couldn't be his house. It couldn't be. His house was secure. Nobody could hurt him there. He'd grown up in that house. Taken his first steps in the kitchen, had his first birthday on the back deck, said his first words just behind that front window while playing peek-a-boo with his big brother through the glass.

This house had been his safe haven upon his return. His room had been his fortress… And someone had violated that.

He felt sick…

He felt angry.

Mama and Papa came over then, eyes wet, gripping at one another, then each of their children in turn.

"Come on, we've got hotel rooms lined up down town until they finish here—"

"I want to see it."

Mama's eyes went wide and she turned to Ezio slowly, shocked. "What?"

"I want to see it," His voice shook. "I want to see what they did that has fifty people so freaked out. What did they do?"

Claudia tried to calm him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling gently, shushing him. "Don't worry about it, it can be fixed—"

He shrugged away from her, hands up defensively when his mother stepped forward to cling to him as well.

He didn't want to be touched… he didn't want anyone to speak… He just wanted to see what had been done to his home.

Walker laid a hand on Giovanni's shoulder to stop the man from moving in on Ezio as well, and something unspoken passed between them.

This wasn't about the break in, wasn't about spray paint and torn photos… This had been a violation of the very thing Ezio had worked so hard to regain. This had been a rape of Ezio's peace of mind.

He needed to see it, needed to confront it, or he would be afraid for the rest of his life.

His father and the Detective went with him, staying a few feet behind, eyes watchful as they made their way into the house.

Everything in the living room and kitchen looked normal save plastic laid down to walk on. The stairs were untouched, photos still smiling down from the walls… But at the top of the stairs there was a thick black, dripping line spray painted down the wall, slicing across the mirror and the bathroom door and disappearing right into Ezio's room.

There were two men in suits and rubber gloves milling around there, and when they looked up Ezio saw blank dark eyes in their heads like ghosts of men too long exposed to horrific things and unable to feel anything but numbness in their presence.

It felt almost like he were being marched to his death and each step seemed only to make the distance greater until he felt his father's hand on his shoulder and he found himself staring at a splash of red across his carpet.

The room smelled of paint and something sour that made Ezio's belly tighten up defensively.

His bed had been tossed about, blankets and sheets torn, his pillow had been sliced open and down was everywhere. Black and red paint drew hideous grotesque figures across the walls, the mobiles he'd hung from the ceiling were destroyed, lying in shattered pieces across the floor, and there were holes broken into the walls. But painted right above his bed, in bloody crimson, was a big Maltese cross.

He felt it… High on his inner right thigh, like someone had set a flame to it, and he stepped backward against his father's chest, lips rolled back in a snarl.

This hadn't been a simple break in, or a random act of vandalism… This had been a message.

This had been someone, some disgusting, evil, despicable man telling him plainly; _I **know…**_

Barely two months ago, had Ezio been faced with this, he would have cowered, would have buried his face in his father's chest and tried to hide himself, tried to squish himself out of existence so he could forget it, so he didn't have to deal with it. He would have looked upon this and something inside him would have broken. Looking on it now, he felt raped in a whole new and disgusting way.

Looking on it now he felt simply, and purely angry.

He was aware of something slick and green and red welling up in his middle, thick in the back of his throat like bile and he shrugged violently from under his father's hands. Teeth ground together so hard his ears rang, turned away from it, and left.

He didn't see the photos, or the familiar places from his childhood, he saw nothing but the doors and the dark rectangle of night beyond it.

The air was thick and he wanted to grip it and tear it in two, wanted to destroy something, inflict the agony he knew he should be feeling upon someone else. He wanted to HURT something.

He shoved past anyone that got in his way, ignoring his mothers calls and his father shouting his name and stomped into the middle of the street, hands fisted and flexing at his sides, breath becoming harder and harder to draw. His thoughts screamed in his head, faster and faster until he couldn't differentiate them from white noise, a dull droning whir that bit into his brain like rabies and infected every inch of him. Blinding, deafening, and overpowering him like a hurricane.

Everything was red.

His hands fisted in his hair, pulling, teeth ground so tightly his jaws popped and his teeth groaned under the stress.

This couldn't be happening. This just had to be a dream, it just had to be. Nothing this painful could be real—

And then there were hands on his shoulders, strong hands, moving between bracing him and cupping his face.

"Ezio? Ezio, you gotta calm down a minute and breathe, alright? It'll be OK, I p—"

"It will NOT be OK! This is NOT OK!" He shoved hard against the person in front of him and stomped off in the opposite direction.

"Alright, angry… Angry I can deal with." The hands were back, blind dumb things amid the red, pushing firmly against his shoulders, voice careful and yet somehow goading. "Are you mad? What are you mad at?"

"I hate 'em… Fuck, I hate 'em so much!" His hands became claws on the shoulders in front of him, "Look what they did… They ruined it!"

Or that's what he'd wanted to say…

What came out was something entirely different.

Altair had him by the shoulders, keeping pressure while Ezio struggled to stomp away from him, ducking and bobbing side to side in an attempt to escape. He stood there letting the younger man push on him, claw at his chest and shoulders, but he knew that he couldn't let Ezio run away from this. Life was inherently painful at times, you couldn't just ignore it and run away, the only way to truly deal with it was to face it head on. So he just kept his eyes locked on those before him and refused to be pushed aside. The hopelessness in Ezio's expression, the hate was painful to look at… He didn't like this ugly muddy vomit color Ezio's eyes looked. Didn't like how his pupils were dilated, and his teeth were gnashed together, didn't like at all that he was shaking as if in the midst of a seizure. And it terrified him that Ezio had stopped speaking English and was growling out his words in gruff Arabic.

It was something Ezio couldn't control, something he couldn't classify or really understand and it hurt Altair that he couldn't help, couldn't listen while the younger man explained the reasoning behind his actions, couldn't make Ezio feel better.

Emotions were scary unpredictable things and finding yourself in the grips of it, defenseless and naked to the onslaught of just FEELING… It was hard to watch, harder still to endure.

When Walker had told him what was drawn on the wall upstairs Altair hadn't understood, thought maybe it had been just some random punks being mean… But seeing how Ezio was reacting to seeing it, how Giovanni said he'd bristled up like an angry dog frightened him.

This meant something to Ezio, whatever that cross on the wall represented, was something that had sprouted all this turmoil. It was the seed that had become this tree of violence.

_"Are you mad? What are you mad at?"_

_"I hate 'em… Fuck, I hate 'em so much! Look what they did… They ruined me!"_

His arms shook, and his fingers curled pulling hard to his left— And Altair recognized it. Remembered seeing Shaun teach the move to them.

The majority of people were right handed, you push to their left and you can use their momentum against them. Redirecting the force, throwing off their balance—

_"You wanna hit something? You wanna punch something?"_

_"Yes." _

It came out in a growl, a low dangerous sound, those hazel eyes looking intent and predatory, and for half a second Altair questioned his own sanity for invoking such potent well honed rage… But then his doubt was gone and he pulled Ezio's head forward so their brows touched.

He knew what would happen, knew and didn't care because this kind of anger couldn't be lessened with words or long walks. It couldn't be redirected into something constructive. It was the kind of angry that needed to be released or it risked destroying everything in its path, it was a breaking point. The point where you just had to let it out because keeping it in was impossible. The point where you had to make something bleed because you'd already bled yourself dry inside and you needed to see that the world, outside yourself, was still turning and that everything, in time passes away.

Ezio needed it, he needed to defend himself, needed to send a message not to the men who had hurt him, or the sicko who had broken into his home, but a message to himself that he was worth standing up for, he was worth defending.

_"You wanna hit someone? Come on, show me, hit me… Hit—"_

A bell rang somewhere in the back of his mind, a single battle ending _DING!_ And for half a second he thought he'd just been punched by God.

He didn't even really feel the blow until he was lying on his back in the street and Ezio was on top of him.

Someone shouted and he twisted his body, enough to yell back at them; "DON'T!"

And everything ground to an abrupt halt.

The first blow seemed to have been enough because Ezio didn't hit him again, just sat there on his chest with his jacket fisted in both shaking hands, staring down through his hair with wide eyes and bared teeth.

They watched one another for a long time, and in his peripheral vision Altair saw Walker with his hand on Giovanni's chest, keeping the older man at bay while Ezio cooled off.

Everyone was quiet and still like animals sensing danger… And then the pull on his shirt front was different. Not changed, just different, and Ezio's eyes didn't look so muddy anymore. Just hurt, very, very hurt.

Altair slowly, carefully lifted himself into a sitting position, and wrapped Ezio in a tight hug. Taking a moment to just focus on the way the younger man seemed to still vibrate in the aftermath of his fury, breath like storm gales in and out of his chest; "You feel better now?"

Ezio shook his head and gave a single hard shudder. He felt positively wretched now. "Why'd you do that?" His voice was just a faint whisper.

"Because you needed it."

He shuddered again, for some reason incapable of crying even though he wanted to. Here he was, sitting in Altair's lap in the middle of the street, his left hand numb, wrist and shoulder aching, clinging to the older man while in his head all he could think about was the solid THUD of his fist against the side of the PI's face and the way Altair's head had jerked to the left and he'd taken a stumbling step back and dropped like a sack of beans… How for a moment he'd just felt so light, so vindicated that he'd leapt forward and dropped himself astride Altair's chest and grabbed the front of that blue shirt, ready to shake him, ready to pound his head back against the pavement until there was nothing but messy paste left—

But it was almost as if the moment his fingers had tangled in that cool blue cotton, his mind had focused on it, the color changed as if at one time it had been all navy but perhaps the sun, or bleach had been sprayed across it artistically, fading some spots lighter shades. It reminded him of a speckled Easter egg he'd made as a child, one he'd been very very proud of and his muscles had locked up, all the anger rolling away from him in great ripples, like a wave crashing out its dominance against the shore.

Walker came over followed closely by Giovanni, and together they eased the two of them up. Giovanni taking a moment to press his son's face between his hands and ask quietly, repeatedly if he was alright. Then he inspected a split oozing on Ezio's knuckles.

Walker pushed a crumpled Wendy's napkin into Altair's hand, snapping his fingers trying to get the younger man's attention; "What the fuck were you thinkin', goddamned nut job…" He jerked the napkin back and pressed it roughly against Altair's cheek bone, keeping him still with a firm hand on the back of his head; "You better get some ice on this shit or you're gonna be a Cyclops for the next two days."

Altair winced and tried to push him away, but Walker just dug his fingers into the back of his head mercilessly; "You're lucky I don't throw your ass in a cell for the night… fucking lunatic."

He tilted his head a little, peering from the corner of his eye at Ezio.

Giovanni had produced a wet wipe, most likely from his grandson's diaper bag, and was cleaning away the blood from Ezio's knuckles, mumbling in Italian… But Ezio's eyes were on him, sad, but definitely calmer.

"Hold this shit, I've got work to do," Walker pushed emphatically on the tissue and Altair winced, for the first time actually aware of a sharp burning sting on that side of his face. He cupped his hand over the spot, and turned, waiting.

He didn't have to wait long though, Giovanni glanced up and made a face at him. One of those 'I'm watching you' faces with his eyes narrowed and his lips pursed, then he sighed and his shoulders slumped and he rolled his eyes; "Don't look at me, I think you're a fucking lunatic too." He muttered something to himself and stepped away to go reassure his family that Ezio wasn't going to beat the PI into a pulp.

They stood there for a while looking at one another, and when he spoke Ezio's voice was strained, rough; "This isn't how I expected it to go."

"No?"

He shook his head and lowered his eyes, lip between his teeth; "I-I'm sorry I hit you."

"I'm not…"

"You're weird," He sighed and glanced over to the house, then down at his hand and back to Altair, his expression growing more and more wounded by the second.

Altair stepped forward and wrapped an arm over his shoulders, chin to the top of the young man's head. "Come on… There's a hotel room with your name on it."

But Ezio stood his ground, head shaking fractionally back and forth.

"I don't want to go to a hotel…"

"Okay, where do you want to go? You want a hotdog? Malik likes hotdogs when he gets into fights."

Ezio shook his head again, harder this time and wrapped his arms around Altair's middle, head bowed onto the older man's shoulder. "I wanna go home with you… I'm gonna have nightmares and I-I need you." He inhaled deeply, feeling suddenly exhausted beyond comprehension.

Altair thought for a moment, then with a sigh; "Okay, let's tell your dad first so he won't worry."

Ezio glanced out over Altair's shoulder and spotted his father.

Giovanni sighed visibly and after a moment of just looking at the two of them, gave a nod and turned to comfort his wife.

Ezio swallowed and lowered his brow again; "He already knows."

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	56. Chapter 56

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_Sorry about the lack of updates, my work schedule has been hellish the past two weeks. All night shifts, which gives me no time to write between school, work and sleep… I apologize from the bottom of my heart… On an up-note my hubby graduated! He's officially the first in his family to have a degree! (He earned a psychology bachelors and is going back in the fall for his masters! Go Baby Go!) So, to celebrate his success, and to apologize for the appalling lack of updates, here are four complete chapters that bring the story up to two chapters within the point the Desmond Shaun fic can be posted without giving too much of the story away!_

_One hint for you though… Naughtiness ensues in a few chapters. :D _

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**Chapter 56; Setbacks**

Hadiya was awake when Altair returned, she was a little surprised at who was with him, left hand tucked against his chest, eyes heavily lidded and glazed.

She'd woken up to a strange burn in her stomach and gone down stairs to find something to drink, and instead discovered that Malik had made banana bread for the children that day, and sat down at the table with the remaining slices and a tub of Blue Bonnet. She'd had strange cravings before, but never for something so plain.

When she'd been pregnant with Gadil she'd craved Knish oddly enough, with lots of garlic and cheese, all drizzled with maple syrup and pickle juice.

Banana bread with butter was decidedly tame in comparison.

Altair shuffled up the stairs, the right side of his face swelling and crusted with blood, red and brown spots and smears all over his jacket and shirt, one hand curled around Ezio's as he guided the younger man into the room.

She didn't say anything, just watched curiously, trying to appear invisible to see what would happen if they would even notice she was there and try to take her food.

Ezio dropped heavily into a chair across from her, left hand still cradled to his chest, eyes puffy and unfocused, and Altair shuffled into the kitchen, rooted around in the freezer for a moment and came back with an icepack and a bag of frozen squash that had been in there for weeks hiding behind the sherbet.

It wasn't until Altair sat down beside the younger man and pressed the squash to his face that Hadiya spoke.

"So… What did I miss?"

Ezio sighed and shifted the ice pack against his fist, shrugging.

Altair's mouth quirked up and he drummed his fingers against the tabletop, a strange somehow beat like sound with his missing finger. "Not much."

She hummed; "Should I be worried?"

"No… But he—he's gonna be staying a few days."

She nodded and took up another slice of bread, chomping into it in a rather unladylike fashion. After a moment of chewing she spoke around her mouthful; "We need more milk… The grocery list is on the fridge, just write down what you want and try not to stay up too late."

Altair nodded; "Yeah, OK."

Hadiya looked back and forth between them, then with a sigh patted the back of Ezio's wrist. "Try to sleep some, if you can't there are movies, Altair has an Xbox, and there's food … Not much that's very appetizing, but there's food." She propped her cheek into her left hand and took another large bite of the banana bread, humming in contentment.

Ezio swallowed and whispered a thanks and for a while they just sat there without speaking, the only sound the shifting of melting squash slices as Altair lowered the bag and prodded his cheekbone.

Hadiya finished the bread off, wiped the crumbs into her hand from the tabletop and ate those as well, then cleared her throat and stood; "Make yourself at home, Ezio." She kissed the top of his head comfortingly as she passed and pushed Altair's head to the side in a familiar, playful way. "Good night, boys."

Altair watched her go, picking out the signs in his head, the angle of her hips and the snugness of her t-shirt across her middle.

Yep… Most definitely pregnant…

Ezio lifted the icepack from his hand and carefully flexed his fingers.

Altair watched him, how the muscles in his forearm twitched and moved, and how the two edges of the split across his second and third knuckles moved independently against one another, more blood leaking out. "Come on, let me take a look at that."

Ezio eyed him suspiciously; "Why?"

"I've had my share of split knuckles, you may need stitches."

His body tightened, but he nodded and followed as Altair shuffled into the kitchen, patting the counter by the sink as he clicked on the light and fetched the first-aid kit from atop the fridge.

Ezio turned and popped his behind up onto the counter, dangling his feet over the linen drawer and staring at the toes of his shoes, thinking they looked somehow stupid protruding out like that, just hanging in space without purpose.

Altair opened the kit at his hip and made soft shushing noises between his teeth as he cleaned around the wound with alcohol, tossing the soiled swabs toward the garbage can but never really managing to get one in it.

"Not too bad… I think this'll be enough," He dabbed pale ointment over it and added two butterfly closures then for good measure wrapped the young man's hand in thin gauze to keep dirt out of it. "I didn't know you were left handed."

"I'm ambidextrous…" He snuffed back a wet feeling in his nose then scrubbed it on his sleeve.

Altair hummed and for a few minutes just cradled Ezio's hand in his own, turning it gently in his grasp and pressing his lips against the younger man's palm before he released it.

Ezio let his hand set in his lap for a few minutes, his palm tingling pleasantly, and with a sigh lifted his head and scrutinized the bloody, enflamed area under Altair's eye. He quirked his mouth to the side and touched around the area with gentle, tentative fingers. Some of the swelling had gone down, thanks to the cold of the frozen squash, but it still looked awful. Reminiscent of the night he'd seen the PI for the first time.

Altair's hands were warm, a reassuring pressure on his hips, gentle and unthreatening, and he became aware of their position, and the firm press of the PI's hips against his inner thighs, with a soft hum of consideration.

His hands moved slowly, taking up the bottle of antiseptic and package of cotton rounds, lower lip gone between his teeth as Altair's eyes slid closed in anticipation, the muscles in his jaw flexing.

The blood took a little more scrubbing to remove than he would have liked, and once it was clean he just stared at the spot for a moment, a neat little rent in the PI's cheek, barely an inch below his eye.

The corner of Altair's mouth twitched; "Does it look gross?"

Ezio hummed noncommittally.

"Does it need stitches you think?"

"Probably…"

"Nice… I haven't had stitches in a while."

He scowled; "You're not helping…" and dabbed at the cut again his stomach bubbling unsettlingly as it moved and seemed to open and close like a little alien mouth every time Altair spoke.

"You wanna do it?"

"What?"

"You know, stitch it up? Play doctor?" He waggled his eyebrows.

"No I do not… I'm not a doctor."

"Neither was the last guy who gave me stitches."

Ezio's eyes widened; "I'll pretend I didn't hear that."

"Aw, come on, it's a good story." He grinned, looking somehow funny with blood on his face and his eyes closed. "I was helping Kalila crush cans for the recycling center and one of them tore, cut right through the side of my shoe and into my foot."

"Gross."

"It bled a lot… looked really sick too… Desmond's good with a needle though."

"You're crazy… If you need stitches you're going to the doctor, not to Desmond."

He snorted; "Doctors charge three hundred dollars a pop, Desmond did it for a pizza and some hot wings."

"Oh, my God…" He shook his head.

"It's really easy, just wash it with soap and water, dump some alcohol on it, hold the needle in a lighter flame for a few seconds and go."

Ezio snorted; "I'm surprised your foot didn't become gangrenous and fall off." He used the same ointment and a few more of the butterfly closures than he should have then covered the spot with a piece of gauze held down on each end with tape… He was tempted to tape Altair's eyes closed just to be mean but decided against it. Instead he just framed the PI's face with his hands and kissed him lightly, fingers smoothing up and delving into his hair, petting it out of his face.

Altair leaned his brow against the younger man's and let out a deep sigh. "I'm sorry this happened… I'll find who did it—"

Ezio's heart sank, that would mean Altair was doing things professionally, and he didn't want that. Professional Altair and Altair the guy were two different people, and the PI had already made clear that there could be only one in this relationship. "Why can't you let Desmond do it? He's got his license now, why does it have to be you?"

"Because this person came after _you… _Did your sister not tell you about the classic boyfriend protectiveness?" His arms came up and wrapped lightly around Ezio's chest. "It's in all the movies."

He tilted his head back to look into Altair's face a little stunned; "You're gonna hunt down and beat the shit out of whoever did it?"

"If you want me to…"

As flattered as he was Ezio let his breath out in a long sigh and bowed his head against the PI's chest. "Not tonight…" He swallowed; "Tonight I'm… I'm tired— I just want you to hold me like this."

Altair nodded; "Okay." He pressed his nose into the top of Ezio's head and hummed softly, some song Ezio didn't know, but he knew Altair, and that was comforting enough at the moment.

"I missed you…"

Altair whispered it back in the faintest breath Ezio had ever heard, but he did hear it and his heart swelled, arms squeezing tighter.

"Do you want to try and sleep or should we just find some movies or something?" he combed through Ezio's ponytail picking at tiny knots that formed as he moved.

He sighed and leaned back, hands on Altair's chest and with a nod let the PI guide him from the kitchen, down the stairs to his room, pausing in the hall to pick up his duffle, backpack and suitcase.

The first thing he saw when he entered the room, stacking his things by the door, were the curtains… thick orange things that lacked a good sixteen inches from touching the floor… They were absolutely the ugliest things he'd ever seen.

"Is Desmond color blind?" He sat heavily on the bed and toed off his shoes, scooting back to sit on the rumpled blankets near the headboard.

"No, he's just cheap, they were on sale, or so the receipt says." He shut the door and shuffled into the bathroom, clicking on the light; "You can take a shower if you want… I think I'm gonna go steal one of Hadiya's magic migraine pills." He rubbed his scalp with rigid fingers; "I think you almost punched my lights out."

And that, it seemed, had been the exact wrong thing to say because Ezio looked at him with such a wounded, lost expression on his face a physical pain shot through the PI's chest.

He sighed and climbed onto the bed as well, wrapping his arms around Ezio's shoulders and pulling the younger man tightly against him.

Marjory had neglected to tell Ezio one thing about experiencing the full force of emotions… It was terribly, terribly draining. Add to that the fact he believed he had come very close to severely injuring Altair and Ezio wanted only to lie down and forget this day had ever happened.

He was too tired to even be angry and could honestly say that it had been the absolute worst forty-eight hours of his life since being reunited with his family.

Altair seemed to sense his weariness and rubbed gently at his shoulders. "You can sleep in here, I'll crash in the office."

Ezio mumbled and gripped his shirt, rubbing his face against the older man's chest. He was tired and cranky and had had a very, very shitty day. He didn't want Altair to go anywhere. Somebody had to wallow in his misery with him.

Altair hesitated and stared down at the top of the younger man's head. "I thought maybe you'd want to be alone after that—"

He scoffed, the sound muffled; "You thought wrong."

He rubbed lightly at the nape of Ezio's neck; "Okay."

They parted for a moment, Altair scooting crab like to the edge of the bed and went to his closet. He bent and started picking through the layer of rumpled clothes in the floor until he found a pair of sweats that were wrinkled in places that told Ezio he'd worn them before then turned and motioned to the luggage sitting by the door; "Do you have things to sleep in or do you wanna borrow somethin'?"

Ezio rubbed his arms for a moment as if chilled, staring at the PI through tired eyes, then with a weary sigh glanced just to the left of him as if embarrassed; "Can I have your shirt?"

Altair was quiet for all of five seconds, then his expression seemed to shrug and he draped his sweats over the TV, shucked off his jacket and skinned the shirt over his head.

Ezio took it when the PI held it out to him and released an almost relieved sigh as he pulled off his own and replaced it. It was a little big on him, but it was warm and smelled like Altair, that's all that mattered to him at the moment.

Altair gave him a sad little smile and disappeared into the bathroom with his sweats over his shoulder.

Ezio flexed his hand, wincing at the sore ache settling into his knuckles.

It was quiet for a while, and he heard Altair shuffling about in the bathroom, the foamy scuff of a toothbrush, and he grinned privately to himself because Altair had left the door open and it was strangely exciting, glancing up to see the older man bent over the sink furiously scrubbing his teeth and tongue, then as if sensing his gaze glancing over with a blush standing out against the white of gauze.

Altair emerged a few seconds later in his sweats and overenthusiastically displayed the fact he was wearing very clean socks.

Ezio rolled his eyes as he stood and took his backpack into the bathroom.

He felt weird looking at himself in Altair's mirror, wearing the PI's lovely Easter-egg-blue shirt, slowly brushing his own teeth and listening intently to the soft sounds just outside, watching as Altair put on a CD, something new obviously since he didn't seem to know the words to every song, probably a non-birthday present. Then turned down the rumpled blankets on the bed, pushing the pillows around and grumbling to himself when he couldn't find the TV remote, why the hell does the damned thing disappear and why is it never where—oh, there it is.

Ezio toed open the under sink cabinet and peered in, curiously, and was surprised the Cox Box wasn't there. Maybe he'd moved it… oh well.

He sighed and rinsed his mouth, hid his toothbrush away then rifled in his bag for his hairbrush and combed out all the knots, tying it back again quickly.

When Ezio left the bathroom Altair was standing in front of his TV flipping quickly through channels without blinking. Ezio hadn't bothered putting on sweats, he was too tired to dig in his luggage to find them, his underwear were good enough.

Altair glanced up at him and motioned soundlessly to the TV. Ezio shook his head so he turned it off again and put the remote down beside his record player, pointing at it as if daring the hunk of plastic and wires to move again. He paused, once Ezio had climbed into the bed, to turn off the light. It plunged the room into almost pitch darkness, the only light dim and filtering in through the frosted glass in the door or the curtains glowing like distant flames.

Altair slid beneath the blankets and held still while Ezio fitted himself snugly against his side. He rubbed at the younger man's back soothingly for a few minutes and just waited. He could feel the tension under Ezio's skin like an electric charge, and sooner or later he'd have to let it out. He'd come too far to let something like this completely ruin his progress.

Ezio was quiet for a long time, fingers flexing gently amid the light dusting of hair down the center of Altair's chest. Then, with a sigh, he started speaking.

"Borgia marked us with it… That cross that was painted on the wall… Lots of people would cut their faces like this, pretending to be one of— pretending, but only those he really had picked out were marked there." He shifted his head against Altair's chest. "I remember Desmond screaming when they did it to him."

Altair had started petting his head and shoulders, lips pressed into his hair making soft calming noises through his teeth.

"I'm sorry I hit you, Altair… I won't do it again."

"I'd rather you hit me than bottle it in and risk going batshit on your sister, or your mother or someone."

"I'd rather not hit anyone…"

He hummed; "I've got an old punching bag in the storage room I can hang up for you if you want."

He nodded but didn't say anything else for a few minutes, and then it was only a whisper. "Can we start this over?"

"Start what over?"

"Tonight? Can we start it over?"

He chuckled quietly; "Yeah if you want."

Ezio swallowed, but seemed to relax a little; "I missed you."

Altair smiled into his hair; "You said that already."

"'doesn't change the fact I missed you."

"I missed you too."

Ezio cleared his throat, feeling clogged and achy; "I like your shirt."

"Hmm, thanks, it looks good on you… How was your trip?"

He let out a long sigh and stretched a little before he settled back down; "It was fun, my Grandparents practically squeezed me to death with hugs and I ate so much I don't think I'll be able to look at Antipasto the same again EVER."

Altair laughed.

"And my grandmother is even smaller than I remember her being… You remember that lady who stood behind us at the cooking class? She's a good six inches smaller. And if you've got a mental image of the stereotypical grandmother you've just about got her. She keeps her hair in a high bun on her head and wears an apron over her dress everywhere she goes… she also scrubbed me with a sponge that felt like a fucking brillo-pad after I went for a swim in her cow pond."

"You did not."

"Yeah, I did… It was raining and it just smelled so clean outside and I jumped out the window and went for a swim."

"Jumped out the window?"

"I'm fine."

"As long as you didn't hurt yourself."

He sighed, somehow relieved that Altair hadn't told him how stupid his actions had been, he knew it had been dumb, but it had felt right; "We drove around and went sightseeing, and I think my aunt Valencia—the woman I sent a picture of—has a crush on Mario."

Altair released an amused snort. "She's like one of those Amazon women… Probably smash your uncle over the head with a club and drag him back to her mountain cave—"

Ezio swatted his chest; "She's my aunt, Altair, be nice."

"Yeah, yeah… Go on, I'm listening."

He shifted into a more comfortable position and continued; "Dad won a Ferrari race and… well, yeah, there was _that_…" His face heated up and he felt Altair grin into his hair.

"And Katie talked to me, she helped me out while I was freaking after I hung up on you… She's a lot different than I expected… But we went to Venice for a few days at the beginning of the week and stayed in my Aunt's house. It's HUGE and she has a bicycle that was specially made by some bridge builder, I tried to ride it and I look like a little kid… I've got pictures to prove it. I almost pushed Federico into a canal but he's steadier on his feet than I remember so I ended up almost going in… Petruccio got to study a Harpy Eagle, he was ecstatic. Then we went to Rome and toured the Vatican on Sunday, I think my dad cried— and we came home."

"Anything else?"

"Yeah, lots, but I'm too tired to find my camera amid all that mess." He flapped his hand toward the door then dropped his arm back across Altair's chest. "I'll do it tomorrow."

The PI hummed again and scratched his throat. "I told Desmond and Shaun to work alone tomorrow so we can sleep in if you want."

Ezio grunted and his fingers started plucking lightly, almost thoughtfully at the barbell through Altair's left nipple.

It was quiet for a while, Altair just laying there quietly until the steady, gentle pinch and tug became too intense to ignore; "I told you about that thing, right?"

"That it's very sensitive? Yeah… I just…" his lip went between his teeth and his right leg slid up, hooking over Altair's lap.

Altair's heart thumped and Ezio could hear it.

"I need to feel OK again." He tilted his head and began pressing feather light kisses across the PI's chest and throat, working upward until he managed to suck an earlobe between his teeth.

He heard the older man swallow, it sounded quite difficult and he lowered his voice almost to a whisper, fingers pulling rhythmically. "I want you…"

Altair moved slowly, catching Ezio's hand in his own and lifting it away from his chest, pressing the younger man's palm to his lips, and his words were warm against chilled fingers; "You want it… But that isn't what you need. Not now anyway."

"But I'm ready—"

"If you're honestly ready, a few more nights aren't going to make any difference…"

Ezio felt his throat burning and he wanted to roll away, wanted to curl in on himself because he didn't understand why Altair was rejecting him. Nobody had ever told him 'no' when it came to sex before. It was what they'd all wanted…

Nobody had said 'no' before…

The PI rolled onto his side, right arm under Ezio's head, his left hand petting lightly over cheek and shoulder and down his back. Their faces were inches apart. Bodies warm where they pressed together.

"Sex isn't going to make you feel OK again… You can't bottle up what you're feeling, can't just dismiss it." He took a deep breath and let it out; "You said you need me? I'm here for you. I'm not going anywhere. I'll hold you if that's what'll help, I'll go sleep on the couch if you think that would be better. I'll be a pillow, or a hand to hold, or whatever you need me to be… But I won't be that. I won't be a broom to help you sweep all this hurt under the rug, and I won't be the rug you hide it under either." He kissed him softly, a gentle press of lips, something chaste and sweet and utterly vanilla in all its natural, untainted goodness; "I want you to be healthy, and doing this so you can forget isn't healthy…"

His throat tightened and he had to swallow repeatedly to get words through, and even then they were strained near breaking; "I hate feeling like this. It hurts."

"I know it does." He shifted closer, letting Ezio try to crawl into him, or so it seemed from how tightly the younger man pressed himself against him. "But burying it isn't going to help at all…"

"What _will_ help?"

Altair sighed, and thought for a moment, nuzzling Ezio's brow and whispering into his hair; "I don't know."

Ezio seemed to deflate.

"What I _do_ know is that I'll be here for you through all of it."

"Yeah?"

He hummed and tilted his chin until their eyes connected; "I'm not going anywhere."

He hesitated, and when the words came out something else seemed to happen, the oppressive darkness of the night seemed to roll back like smoke pulled out an open window, and Ezio felt his pulse quicken, felt all the anxiety that had built the past week come to a warm, almost fever like crest.

"I love you, Ezio."

For a moment he just lay there holding his breath, unsure if what he'd heard was actually what he'd heard and not just his own anticipation and desire putting words in Altair's mouth. And then his hand started to shake, fingers finding Altair's left cheek in the dark, eyes flicking back and forth trying to find a hint of his face, just a shape against the glow of the curtains. He clung, almost desperately and felt that, had he been standing, his knees would buckle and he would have fallen to the floor. He didn't even realize he was crying until Altair had pulled him forward whispering into his hair, asking him repeatedly what was wrong. And he'd practically wrapped himself around the older man, saying over and over that nothing was wrong and he didn't know why exactly he was crying, that it seemed a very stupid thing to do, but he couldn't quite make himself stop. Altair sighed, a tiredly amused sound and the edge of his lips curled up a little.

Ezio had felt drained before, now he felt truly exhausted, both mentally and physically. Exhausted, frightened by the prospect of someone still lurking out there in the world who wanted to hurt him, but at the same time light, relieved… happy.

Altair loved him…

Altair LOVED him.

"Y-you suck… you really, really suck."

Altair chuckled; "What? Why do I suck?"

"You h-had to tell me that when I feel like shit, didn't you."

The PI rolled his eyes. "I sat down and planned all this out, I hope you know… I was gonna meet you at the airport and try to stay in a public place so your dad didn't have an opportunity to shank me."

Ezio snorted.

They didn't say another word, just faded gently to sleep holding one another.

The nightmares came like clockwork.

Altair woke three times to whining noises or unnatural twitching in the bed beside him, and once he woke up to Ezio sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands crying.

It wasn't the tears that frightened him, it was the fact that Ezio was utterly silent while he was doing it. His breath didn't even seem labored, and Altair wondered how many nights the younger man had lain in bed so overwhelmed like this that he didn't even have the strength to sob.

He sat against the headboard for a while and let Ezio just lean into his embrace, listened while the younger man spoke in a whisper about fear, how he felt so useless sometimes, and how he pushed himself because he saw how happy his family was of his 'progress' and didn't want to disappoint them. How sometimes he didn't even want to get out of bed, that sometimes it didn't seem worth it.

Altair found himself talking as well. Soft hushed words. Things he'd never told anybody. Silly things, when he'd lost his Faith, how he'd hated his mother after her death, how angry he had been. That for years he'd refused to acknowledge his heritage, pretended to be something, and someone he wasn't, and even now that he used a shampoo to lighten his hair color. He also found himself hesitantly telling Ezio about the first person he'd slept with. An older boy in his high school, and how he'd been beaten up by that very same boy just two days later and called horrible names… That Malik and Kadar had eventually gotten the truth out of him, had found the boy slashed his tires and said something, to this day Altair didn't know what they'd said, and that boy had transferred schools.

It was strange to actually voice things, to say them when he'd spent years trying to convince himself they had all been dreams, or fantasies, but how good it felt to finally say it. And how awful he felt that he hadn't returned Kadar's feelings, that for him, it really had all been about sex, until—

Ezio almost poked him in the eye trying to cover his mouth to silence him, and for a few minutes he grumbled about it, grumbled some more when some of Ezio's hair got in his face and made him sneeze.

Ezio laughed quietly.

Altair felt relieved by the sound; "You feel any better?"

He hummed; "Tired… and kinda' horny."

Altair smiled in a somehow sleepily amused way. "Aside from that."

Ezio sighed and closed his eyes, "Angry… scared that they might come back… I don't know what'll happen if they come after me." He shivered; "If our neighbor hadn't seen the door was open nobody would have known… I keep wondering what would have happened if we'd just come home and that asshole had been waiting, like hiding in my closet or something."

Altair grunted thoughtfully; "You could take'em."

Ezio snorted.

"Seriously… You knocked me down with one punch, that's saying something."

"Yeah, sure."

"You do know I was a Marine, right? I'd take three hits to the balls every morning before breakfast. It's not easy to knock me on my ass—"

Ezio prodded him in the ribs with curled fingers, grinning inwardly when the PI whined and flinched away. "Tough shit, huh?"

He fussed and writhed trying to push Ezio's hands away then with a growl, surrendered. "Fine, fine, I'm fat and ticklish… But you could take'em."

"I could not."

"Yeah, you could… Most of the time if you can make 'em bleed they'll back off, and if they don't a punch to the throat'll put'em down. Gadil had this kid picking on him, he bloodied his nose and the kid stopped." Altair didn't add that the boy had been expelled and moved to a new school. "If someone sees a handful of their own blood they'll stop for a second, long enough for you to run… And I think people run faster scared than they do mad anyway."

Ezio was quiet, thinking, then sighed and nuzzled into Altair's ribs.

It was quiet for a ten count.

"Altair?"

"Hmm?"

"You didn't really take three hits to the balls every morning, did you?"

He chuckled and pulled Ezio closer.

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_I could so totally end this right there and feel happy with it as a story *flail* but I did promise a bedroom scene, plus Altair and Ezio aren't happy, so don't panic there is still more. Lots more._

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	57. Chapter 57

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**Chapter 57; Glass Menagerie **

He watched them.

Little angles frolicking in the sun, like crystal chandeliers twinkling and glittering, dropping, shattering, shining all.

He imagined each perfect beat of their hearts, the beauty each held within them at a molecular level. A delicate flower of flesh, fluttering away without a care in the world.

He sat there, above the world, watching. High on his throne, all the little children at play.

They were awe inspiring. All of them. Just thinking about how many thousands of years worth of sex it took to reach this point. How genetics followed such vine like, river like pathways to get to this single, beautiful, dark eyed child.

Who were their great grandparents? Poor immigrants? Wealthy businessmen?

Who were their forefathers? Peasants? Kings?

Each face and cultural characteristic spoke a million words. Whispered a million names. Told stories of deserts, and plains, of forests and lives lived upon the sea.

It was… beautiful.

Perfection drawn from such chaos.

This boy's ancestors were from Australia, criminals shipped off from Great Brittan.

This girl's were from Hawaii.

Those twins' ancestors were earth people from Scotland. Vikings, pagans.

That boy's were from Russia, severe and well suited to handle the bite of the cold. One of the harshest climates on earth.

Those children's very grandparents came from the Holy Land… even now, just looking at them he could taste the thirst in the air. Could see it so clearly in his head.

All of them… Perfect.

Little jewels in the rough, just waiting to be cut, shaped and polished like glass. So fragile, but full of so much potential… Capabilities endless.

The human body… such a miracle in itself. How hundreds of thousands of years of evolution had created such a well tuned, flawless machine.

Beautiful.

Such a miraculous thing, life. That spark that set humanity apart from animals. That energy, the promise that gave humans free will, conscience, a soul…

All so gently, and easily brought to the surface where it might be seen with the naked eye.

That one, exquisite moment where the universe, where the All came into focus… That moment where the human body reached its absolute limit, such a shining, bright… beautiful, place.

It could take years of constant focus to reach, but once it was grasped, once that instant was captured… you would inevitably spend the rest of your life trying to experience it over and over and over again, trying to understand it, to share it with the world.

What a miracle, what an astounding feat, no defiance or logic, of science.

The sheer number of sensations the human body was able to experience.

Magic, it had to be magic.

How one's nerves could sing, how the flesh and organs reacted, quivered and pulsed. How the brain released endorphins, and the heart sped up.

How, if just the right amount of pressure was applied, a single finger could bring a boy unimaginable pleasure, or indescribable pain.

The mysteries the human body could unravel simply with proper exploration. The levels of sensation one could experience when truly and fully open to the very core.

Sitting there, high above the world, He saw such potential, like fragile glass tumblers etched and formed so delicately, so ready to sing, to create such beautiful music, to expose their souls to rapture, to purification.

The innocence, the blankness of the slate.

Potential.

All the little children…

Beautiful.

He imagined, frequently, the form of a young boy. Thin, well muscled. Still retaining that willowy, innocent, childish form. Not yet entering puberty, puberty made boys such awkward spindly creatures so full of testosterone and the stink of impure thoughts.

He imagined this boy standing naked in front of a window overlooking the sea.

A plain white room with no furniture and a plush snowy carpet.

The boy had black hair with just the slightest hint of curl, and dark as midnight eyes. Eyes where, from a distance, you couldn't differentiate the pupil from the iris.

Rosy cheeks and light, flushed, olive skin.

He imagined a beautiful boy.

He would stand there in front of the window and watch the waves crash along the beach and his body would flow with the movement.

The window would be shut, so no wind blew in and chilled him in his nudity, and his loins would be high and proud between his legs, untainted, uncircumcised. Hairless and beautiful.

He would dance to the sound of the ocean, sway and sing quietly to himself. Would lay in the sun on the carpet and touch his face.

His fingers would be long and thin, always moving, would pet each of his tiny nipples into hardness and ponder what caused them to react so.

The Boy would touch his lips and wet his fingertips, would curl his brows curiously as he explored himself, asking softly why his body tingled, why his flesh heated and filled with blood.

He would smile down at the boy where he sat beside him, gentle and kind, would take the boy's hands between His own and smell them. Would breathe in that scent that spoke of friction and need and innocence. He would kiss those soft pink lips and touch a curved rosy cheek.

The world, he would explain, had grown The Boy specifically for this task. Time had changed his form, had evolved this perfect, beautiful creature from minerals and simple proteins. His hands, large and soft and highly familiar with the delicacies of the human structure, would touch, would smile as His Boy sighed and whined from such unfamiliar, such new pleasures.

The nerves, He would say, were made simply and solely to feel, and on average, no human fully experiences what their bodies are truly capable of. What extremes the nerves, such finely tuned machines, were able to translate.

What an evolutionary marvel, the nerve. Cells capable of translating chemical and electrical signals into sensation, such a potent, and magnificent thing.

Magic.

He would explain, calmly, taking His Boy's hand and placing it on the burn scars along his side and back, that there was nothing more potent, more real, than experiencing everything the human body was capable of feeling.

Pleasure, is only a small fraction of this experience, of this magic.

He would kiss His Boy, taste the first pleasure on his breath, inhale the scent of Knowledge. He would watch that pale, innocent flesh in his hand grow, thicken and harden.

Millions of years of geothermic heating and cooling, living and decay created the first complex proteins, sparking life itself within it. Protozoa and Amoeba, viruses combining, breeding and cross breeding. Life swelling, just as His Boy's flesh grew and flourished.

Life.

_Beautiful._

Clean.

_Pure._

And God took from the earth ashes and breathed life within them. Light pushed back the darkness and the world was truly formed.

Man came to the Earth.

God took from Man his very flesh and birthed Woman and bade them go forth and multiply.

And Man lay woman down upon the Earth and put himself within her, and God said it was good.

Man put into Woman his seed, and God said it was good.

And Woman birthed to Man a Son, and God said it was Good.

Man became Father, and took to him his Son.

And God said it was Good.

Nature, this is the nature of The All.

Father will teach his Son, He would say and offer himself to His Boy, would guide his hand in the ways of pleasure, how a Man should be formed, how he should move himself, how he should perform. He would take His Boy's body and smile, would teach.

Open your mouth, He would say, A Man enjoys the pleasures of Youth, just as Youth should enjoy the pains of it.

He would smile as His Boy's eyes filled with tears, as his voice rose and fell as each level of sensation washed over him.

He would share it all.

Pain, He would explain, is pure. There is nothing deceiving about it, nothing false like pleasure. It did not mask the other senses, it sharpened them, made them bright shining stars.

He would explain, while the boy's tears fell and his body accepted it all, begged for more, that He had experienced epiphany in 'Nam. When The Corporal's flamethrower was blown and that beautiful glob of flaming Hell caught him in the side.

The agony, He would say, was what truly opened his eyes to the world. To the Truth.

The smell of my own flesh burning away was… Beautiful. Sweet and savory, like roast pork in the balmy summer air after a storm. Smoky and delicious.

And the pain… I wish I could share that with you. I wish I could show you such pain. It would be a blessing on you. Not many people get to experience something so pure.

The Order, He would say, It's our mission to find the right kind of purity. Subjects who have gone generations without feeling It.

It leaves a mark, you see. That kind of experience. A mark that lasts hundreds of years. So there are only a few rare individuals who possess the correct degree of Cleanliness.

Pain leaves its mark on the DNA… It can eventually be bred out, but it takes time, time I simply do not have unfortunately… That is where The Order comes in. There are generations of us now, Fathers who have taught their Sons who will one day become Fathers and teach their own Sons.

This is the greatest gift I will ever be able to bestow on another, He would say, just as His Boy's eyes began to brighten and glow with the agony, just as his breath began to slow and his pupils began to twitch in that hesitant, struggling way.

I'm keeping the Bloodlines Pure, He would hold his breath, _watching_, heart seized in his chest as His Boy's eyes changed. As the pupil expanded and slowly, like delicate glass lens... shatter.

Perfection…

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	58. Chapter 58

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**Chapter 58; Launch **

The morning came abruptly, like a crash of thunder.

One moment everything was quiet, the next Malik was pounding on the door.

"The kids missed the bus, I'm taking them to school. Hadiya wanted me to ask if you wanted anything from the store."

Altair blinked tiredly and noticed Ezio was just staring blankly with a little miserable crease between his brows toward the curtains. He rubbed comfortingly at the younger man's arm and back and whispered into his hair; "You want anything?"

Ezio sighed and shook his head, then after a moment rubbed his face against the PI's chest. "'need to call my parents."

"I know where they're staying, we can go there if you want."

He thought a moment and nodded.

Altair cleared his throat and called out to the older man in the hall; "Give us a minute."

Malik gave an audible growl; "They'll be late for school if I wait much longer then I'll be stuck with them all day."

It was obvious to Altair at least that Malik was only trying to sound tough, Malik, in all actuality enjoyed spending time with his children and on more than one occasion had allowed them to stay home just so they could watch movies and play board games all day, or go to the zoo.

Ezio clung for a few more moments before, with a groan, he sat up, scrubbing his face. He didn't even bother disappearing into the bathroom to change, just forced himself to his feet and crouched beside his duffle, fishing numbly around for a pair of jeans and lazily pulling them on, laying back across the bed with them still unzipped, arms above his head, just staring at the ceiling.

Altair sat up and blinked down at him for a few seconds, then leaned forward and bumped his lips against the younger man's forehead. He went to his closet and picked through it for a few minutes, feeling Ezio's eyes on his back like heated points. He yawned compulsively and found a pair of jeans amid the messy tangle of hangers and just grabbed a t-shirt at random. He dressed quickly and shoved his feet into some shoes. Dropping onto the bed beside Ezio long enough to tie them.

Ezio stood and fastened his jeans then dug around in his bag long enough to find a pair of socks and his shoes.

Malik was already down stairs by the time they made it, the kids were dancing around with their backpacks, looking at this and that, talking, active and engaged with just about everything around them.

It wasn't often that Malik drove. It's not to say he wasn't good at it, he just didn't like it. He'd never liked driving with other people in the car. By himself was a different matter all together.

He scowled at Altair and Ezio when they appeared, Ezio hiding under the hood of a thick jacket he'd borrowed from Altair, the PI's own jacket unzipped and displaying a rather creative silk screen of one obscure band or another. Malik just shook his head and ushered them toward the back of the store and out the door.

Malik and Hadiya actually had two cars. One Hadiya used to drive to and from work, and the other, a rather new acquisition, was a hybrid Malik had been sold from a client whose daughter had wanted a pink one, not a silver one. It was an eight passenger thing, only two years old with a lovely Scooby-Doo sticker on the left taillight complements of Kalila's friend Heather whose own parents let her put stickers on everything and didn't try to stop her.

Malik sneered at it every time he passed and wondered who in their right mind would let their child put stickers all over their car, let alone the car of a stranger.

Saree monopolized the front passenger seat, giving Altair and Ezio a look that asked just what the problem was.

Malik grinned to himself as he watched the rear view mirror while Altair and Ezio climbed into the back, one on either side of Zafir.

The ride to the school was rather uneventful save Zafir started chattering with Ezio about the dinosaur on the front of Zafir's sweater. Every so often the little boy would wrinkle his face up severely and— "Graaaaaaaaawwwwl! GRAAAAAAWWWWWWL!" And make little clawing motions in the air with his fingers. Then cackle and flail around in his car seat.

Once or twice Altair caught Malik's eyes watching them amusedly in the rear view.

Kalila, Saree and Gadil piled out of the car as soon as Malik had parked it and Malik walked them in escorted by the security guard.

Gadil walked with his chest puffed out all the way to class with Kalila, grinning and telling every teacher that passed that it was OK, he'd been moved ahead a grade. Kalila looked positively humiliated.

Zafir, astoundingly started singing the theme song to Sponge Bob in English as soon as Malik was out of sight and Altair laughed into his hand.

"What's so funny?" Ezio's brows drew down.

Altair rolled his eyes amusedly and spoke between giggles; "Malik thought he'd teach him Arabic earlier than he did the others, but Hadiya said for the past two months he's not said a word in English where Malik could hear him. I didn't believe her until now." He shook his head.

"He's two years old and bilingual?"

"And Malik thinks he's messed up his language skills… Don't tell him, it's funny."

Malik came back a few minutes later and sure enough the first thing Zafir said to him was in Arabic.

Malik hung his head miserably.

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Ezio's family was staying at a small, but comfortable hotel about fifteen minutes from their house.

Federico, Katie and baby Gio had gone back to their apartment, and it seemed, from how bags were being packed, that the rest of the family was shortly to follow.

Maria opened the door and her arms went instantly around Ezio's shoulders, pulling him tightly to her chest, whispering apologies and words of comfort into his hair.

He hugged her back and allowed himself to be pulled into the room.

Altair hung back in the hallway looking uneasy… Until Giovanni's eyes narrowed and his lips curled up into a grin; "Come in, we have much to talk about."

Altair had been in uncomfortable situations before. Had learned that it was best to keep your mouth shut and your head down, but having breakfast with Ezio and his family was something he wasn't prepared for in any way.

He found himself picking at the dishes that had been brought up, eggs, toast and jam with some fruit seemed to be all he managed to eat. And even that was rudimentary at best. A few bites, eyes up and watchful beneath his hood while all the other eyes in the room were practically locked on him.

Ezio, at least, looked a little uncomfortable… That was helpful in some weird twisted way.

And then Giovanni said it.

"If you hurt my son, Altair… I'll break your spine."

And he said it in such a sincere, polite, almost nonchalant tone Altair didn't at first understand that his life had just been threatened, he was in fact almost relieved by that pleasant, attractive little smile. But, his relief didn't last long because half a second later the words sank in and he felt the color drain from his face.

Ezio blinked rapidly at his father in shock, but Maria didn't seem phased at all and nudged some more eggs and fruit toward her son.

Claudia, sensing her brother's growing distress, leaned to the side and whispered to him. "Don't worry, he says that to all the guys." She scraped some more bacon onto Ezio's plate while he was focused on the horrified look on Altair's face.

Petruccio leaned to the side and whispered in Ezio's other ear. "Just be glad he didn't slip you a box of Trojans and say _'If you get her pregnant because you weren't prepared I'll throttle you.'_ I was a little surprised he actually used the word 'throttle'."

Altair didn't say anything, didn't really respond. What had been said was not spoken as a threat, nor really, as a joke. Just a statement of fact. He wasn't necessarily afraid of Giovanni Auditore as a man. He figured they would be just about evenly matched in a fight, though he wasn't sure why, common sense would dictate that Altair and his military training would have the upper hand, but there was just something about Giovanni that commanded respect. The man had seen things in his life. Had LIVED. He KNEW things that normal, every day bank managers would only read about in fiction novels.

Altair feared Giovanni because the man had an air of mystique around him, a subtle tilt to his eyes that spoke of danger and secrets. He feared him because he was Ezio's father, and that meant something.

Altair didn't want to mess with that side of Giovanni because he knew, quite instinctually, that if he should, hypothetically hurt Ezio, he would end up at the older man's mercy.

Mario smiled pleasantly and stabbed a doughnut on a saucer in front of Altair with his fork; "Jelly filled… My favorite!"

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	59. Chapter 59

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_*clears throat* YAOI WARNING!_

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**Chapter 59; Sense of Self**

Altair woke when Ezio twitched in his sleep. He expected, simply from the unnatural shudders and motion of the nights prior, that the younger man was having another nightmare, but instead or whimpering and pained, defensive shoving, Altair became aware of a solid, warm pressure against his thigh, and a kneading motion in Ezio's hands.

He was in the middle of another dream alright… But Altair wasn't sure if it was a good dream or the kind Ezio whispered about that he woke from feeling ruined.

Altair considered just lying still and letting him find his release then reassuring him when he woke, but he couldn't let that happen, not now. And if it was a good dream Ezio would put up a struggle of groaning and fussing trying to stay asleep and he'd stop.

"Ezio?"

A hand stroking over his head was all it took to wake him. A solid, defensive jerk and his eyes were open, searching, his fists clenched and ready.

_Bad dream… _

It was a few long moments before he was able to relax into Altair's embrace, his face hidden in the PI's chest, teeth ground together in humiliation and anger, hands tangled in the blankets.

"Hey, come on… Look at me." Altair slid two fingers under Ezio's chin and tilted his face gently upward.

Ezio sighed, a low defeated sound, but he lifted his eyes anyway and met Altair's gaze, tears building in the corners of his vision. "I can't do this…"

For a moment Altair felt cold inside and he wondered what Ezio was talking about.

The past two nights Ezio had stayed here, in his home, in his bed and he'd never seen such a defeated, helpless look in the younger man's eyes.

They hadn't been easy nights, plagued by nightmares and overwhelming thoughts that there was still someone, probably multiple someones out there who KNEW, who wanted to hurt him.

"I can't keep living like this…"

Altair pulled him close, letting him have a few minutes to cry out his misery and despair.

It was heartbreaking, but Ezio let it out anyway, and each time so far had been easier, leaving him feeling calmer.

"I hate feeling like this, Altair… I f-feel like I'm stuck. Like I'll never get any better." He wrapped an arm around the PI's chest and pulled until Altair was practically on top of him, using the older man like a blanket, a shield. "Are they winning? D-did I come all this way for them to beat me down again?"

"No."

It was quiet for a while, still, just the beating of their hearts and the whisper of their breath over the drone of the street outside this little bubble of existence they called life.

To Ezio the sound of it made him realize even more deeply that the world didn't stop for anyone, no matter how painful the experience, time kept on its unerring, unending march, and the world kept turning, passing him by.

"I feel alone."

Altair breathed into his hair; "You're not alone."

"No?"

"No, of course not. Your family is here, I'm here, Leo's here, that lady you see—what's her name?"

"Marjory?"

"Yeah, she's here for you… Have you called her?"

He nodded. "I've got an appointment to talk to her Monday."

"That's good… she's nice?"

"Yeah, she helps."

"Good… whatever helps you." Altair shifted closer, rolling backward a little so Ezio didn't feel crushed. "Feel any better now?"

Ezio grunted noncommittally, trying to ignore the stiffness still lingering between his legs… every time Altair moved it made it worse, and he was beginning to become embarrassed by it. It had absolutely no manners.

"What're you thinking?"

Ezio shrugged. "I just feel… Pushed I guess." He found the little bump of fabric over Altair's left nipple and played with it. He stopped once he remembered what it did, but found himself drawn to it again.

"Pushed to what?"

"I don't know," He rubbed his nose; "It's stupid. I'm just… anxious I guess."

"Anxious about what?"

He just hummed and kept plucking thoughtfully.

"Do you like playing with that thing?" Altair chuckled sleepily.

"Kinda… It's different." His brows screwed up. "Did it hurt?"

"I was drunk… I don't remember having it done. I just remember it was tender and sore for about a week and then I started to realize it kinda felt good."

Ezio hummed again; "Federico has his ear pierced… And Claudia has her belly button done… My father even has his ear done."

Altair grunted in surprise; "Your dad's got his ear done?"

Ezio nodded. "My mother pierced it when I was little… I remember him sitting at the kitchen table with an ice cube on his ear and Mother standing over him with alcohol." He chuckled; "It was funny, she did it and his eyes got really wide and he crumpled the pages in his book… She'd been joking about doing it for a while, and got him in that position a few times with the ice, but she'd never really done it. I think he was a little shocked that she'd actually just stabbed a pin through his earlobe."

Altair snorted.

"My mother had a crush on Harrison Ford for a while, and she thought it would be sexy I guess… Dad looked so shocked when she actually did it." He felt himself giggling.

Altair relaxed a little at the sound of Ezio's laughter. "What about your little brother?"

"Petruccio? No, not yet anyway… If he keeps dating that girl I'm pretty sure he'll end up with one. If not by choice that because her ferret bites him… That thing's teeth are like needles."

Altair smiled; "I had my ear done once… I think it healed over though."

Ezio kept fiddling with the barbell through his shirt; "Maybe I should get something pierced."

"Your ear?"

He shrugged.

"What then? Your nose?"

"Ew… I don't know… I just—I need a change."

Altair grunted knowingly and shifted back against the bed; "When I need a change I shave my head."

Ezio sounded insulted; "I am not shaving my head! And neither are you, I like your hair." He grabbed it for emphasis and tugged gently. "Although your roots are showing…"

Self consciously Altair touched it, pulling a lock toward his face as if he could see it. His lower lip came out in a pout.

Ezio leaned forward and captured it gently between his teeth, much to his own and Altair's surprise.

He was startled at first, wondering quickly if he should just let go, chest burbling uncomfortably, but even as he tried to let it go he couldn't… not quickly enough anyway.

Altair blinked at him long enough to lean forward and offer a single kiss, words warm and quiet when he whispered them; "It's not goin' away is it."

Ezio glanced off toward the ceiling feeling a little humiliated. He'd hoped Altair hadn't noticed the pressure… but at the same time he cursed in his head._ Of course Altair fucking noticed it… Idiot, how could you hope he wouldn't notice… jesus._

"Ezio…"

He made himself look, eyes unsure where they met Altair's, but steady just the same.

Altair's hand stroked gently over the younger man's ear, combing his hair back and their lips connected slowly, hesitantly.

Ezio was overcome once more by that warm intense feeling in his middle, the same heat that had built the night Altair had shown him the correct way one kissed.

The soft scrape of Altair's unshaven chin against his own. The rough calluses on his fingers, that strange absence of pressure from the missing digit.

The world moved on outside the window, clouds that had been gathering for days continued to throng.

The neighbors tossed in their sleep, a mouse was snared in a trap down stairs in the basement.

People continued their lives oblivious to the fact Ezio was rubbing his tongue along Altair's, little sensations like electric shock traveling from every point where the two of them touched to the base of his spine.

The world continued to turn, the moon and planets and solar system continued its chaotic screaming pathway across the universe, all of it oblivious to it.

Ezio liked this. Liked feeling the slow, gentle rock of Altair's hips, that moment every few seconds when they moved in sync and the friction through clothes was absolute—He liked it, that is until he felt Altair shift, and an alien heat line up against his own and he became aware that he was lying there on his back with his legs open and Altair was on top of him—

"Ah—it—Altair… _AH!_ Stop, _stop_ it hurts."

He pulled quickly back, panting, eyes wide in shock and abrupt horror, hands flat and firm against Altair's chest—

His eyes were already watering, breath hitching, bracing himself for the man to continue on mercilessly, to pull and tear his clothes. To slap and hit and scratch and shove into him— but when all motion abruptly ceased and the PI moved away, bracing himself up on his elbows at either side of his head, Ezio went terribly rigid, eyes squeezed shut.

They stayed there, completely still, panting and gasping, and after a good minute without motion Ezio pried his eyes open to slits, peering up at Altair warily. He saw concern on the other's flushed face and fingers went gently through his hair.

Altair's voice was quiet, barely a whisper, and his eyes were unwavering, calm, unperturbed. "What hurts? Just tell me what to do."

It took him a long few minutes of staring up at Altair with an expression that said quite plainly he didn't understand, didn't know what had just happened. As if he were seeing something entirely new and alien and strange for the first time in his life.

"What hurts, Ezio? What'd I do?"

He made a noise in his throat, a strangled, helpless sound and his arms came up, wrapping around Altair's neck and pulling him down.

Altair it seemed didn't know what was wrong either, but he had an idea of what may be the problem. "You want me to move?"

Ezio shook his head. "You didn't hurt me…"

Altair seemed to relax a little and he lowered his brow to the younger man's; "You're scared though. We'll sto—"

"No… I j-just need a minute."

"Ezio."

"I know what I'm doing…" He took a deep breath and scrubbed his eyes.

"What are we doing? How far do you want to go with this?"

He thought about it for a moment, took a breath to remove himself from the situation, to think about it logically. To slow himself down and came to one, solid conclusion.

"I wanna touch you… I-I just wanna touch you."

Altair swallowed thickly and Ezio could see his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat frantically.

"Well, this isn't the right position for that." He moved slowly, shifting away until he was on his back by Ezio's side. He seemed to tremble, from nerves or a chill Ezio wasn't sure, but it seemed contagious whatever it was.

He lay there panting for a few minutes in silence, then slowly, hesitantly, levered himself up and peered down at Altair through the darkness.

Altair was just lying there, hands folded on his stomach, sweats tented, eyes watchful, but he in no way seemed threatening, not in the way Ezio disliked anyway.

He cleared his throat and addressed the PI in a whisper; "What's not OK?"

"Tickling… I don't like to be tickled."

So of course the first thing Ezio did was prod him twice in the ribs to ease the tension that had sprouted from everywhere at once.

He reminded himself with a deep breath, that this was Altair.

Altair had stopped, he hadn't taken what had been offered nights before. He had said 'no' when no other had. Altair had never hurt him, had never pushed him into something he didn't want to do.

Altair loved him…

His hands shook, chilled where they touched. The fine nearly invisible little lines at the corners of Altair's eyes. The scar on his lips, the butterfly closures on his bruised cheek. His eyebrows were traced, and his hairline was mapped. The faint scar over the bridge of his nose as well as a round little dot left over from teenaged acne.

Ezio leaned forward slowly, gently, and kissed him, putting all the gratitude and confidence he could into that tiny little press of lips.

Altair shrugged out of his shirt when Ezio tugged on the hem emphatically. The scars on his arm and shoulder and chest were traced reverently, and when he was asked he rolled onto his stomach and bared his back to the younger man. Head tilted to the side, hands under his chin, he focused inward as he listened to every whisper, every quiet little hiss of breath as Ezio kissed the bruises on his back and the few scattered little freckles he hadn't known he'd had. The creases in his skin from wrinkled clothing were rubbed with warm fingertips and the muscles bunched and twitched.

He blushed when Ezio hooked fingers in the hem of his sweats and gave them a gentle tug toward his feet, but raised up and pushed them down anyway, letting those explorative fingers trace the ticklish backs of his knees and down his calves. He even let Ezio peel his socks off and laugh at the pale line around his ankles. Even let the other giggle at his toes.

It was gentle, soft, quiet… secret. An innocent kind of curiosity, and Altair found himself experiencing for the first time something he'd never felt before.

Even the long conversations he'd had with himself about what he felt for Ezio didn't compare to how deep, how solid, this felt.

It made him realize all over again, with much more clarity, that he loved Ezio.

Pressure on his shoulder and he moved without thought, rolling onto his back, hand finding Ezio's in the pale morning light and pulling gently at a long sleeve.

He didn't hesitate, although the motion was slow, relaxed, and drew the sweatshirt over his head,

Ezio's torso was marked every so often by a pale scar, a little thing, or a large one, like the slash across the back of his right shoulder. Something that was barely visible but could be felt under one's fingers.

His hands were warm, strong, fingers just a little longer than Altair's. He silently filed this information away for later, counted ribs through skin and watched muscles flex as Ezio reclined against the pillows on his stomach.

He touched each blemish with his lips, whispering a soundless, voiceless blessing into Ezio's skin.

Inhaling the bad energy, and letting out good.

That's what it felt like, an ebb and flow between the two of them, rising and falling, like clouds across the sky, growing and shrinking and growing and shrinking.

Ezio lifted his hips and his sweats slid off his feet, arms crossed under his cheek, eyes attentive and shining as Altair's fingers played through the dusting of hair on his calves, or traced over the knobs of his heels.

Altair eased back beside him, his eyes seeming to beckon something forward, curious while at the same time without complaint or question.

Ezio's hands moved, slowly but without hesitation, and it seemed that within the blink of an eye or the beat of his heart he was sitting there wearing nothing but a serene expression.

Altair looked at him, and although his gaze was intent there was nothing predatory about it, nothing demanding or ravenous. He looked, and Ezio felt that, for the first time, Altair was seeing him without having to try. Without having to force himself.

Altair was looking at him, and seeing who he really was, not who everyone wanted him to be, who his trauma had made him.

He felt that Altair was looking at him and seeing the strength, the kindness and the love.

He tilted his head onto his knees and watched with a little smile on his face, as Altair pushed his boxerbriefs off and tossed them. He thought they landed on the TV and giggled a little but nothing existed out of this little bed shaped bubble.

Altair smiled arms folded under his chin. "You're naked."

Ezio rolled his eyes; "And you're not obvious at all…"

Altair hummed and caught the sheet between his toes, pulling it this way and that.

Ezio watched him, just looking at him as a whole, and trying not to giggle more because now, if Altair laughed the one fantasy he'd developed about the PI would come true and he didn't know if he would be able to continue living if he didn't grope him.

"Altair?"

"Hmmm?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For stopping earlier…" He pressed his lips into his arm and let out a long sigh. "I mean it…"

Altair didn't say anything but everything was there anyway.

"Altair?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you say it again? I… I think I like hearing it."

His brows scrunched; "Say what again?"

Ezio leaned back, just inches from Altair, hand by his cheek.

It was the look in his eye, and that was enough. That was all it took.

Altair lifted himself and kissed him, whispering it between the contact; "I love you."

Ezio's hands came up, carding through his hair and his eyes slid closed, relaxing into the kiss as it worked across his cheek and jaw, down his neck… over his chest and stomach—

His eyes came open again in confusion as the PI shifted lower and met with those unusual gold irises. "Altair… w—"

His left hand found Ezio's right and their fingers meshed, his words coming out in a breath against the younger man's navel; "Only if you want me to…"

Ezio's mouth opened and closed fish like and his eyes widened, his breath hissed in and shuddered out, everything that had happened seemed to culminate in his mind, all those innocent touches and kisses and then there was this… but— but how was this any different? Altair was there, his eyes gentle and open, there was nothing urgent or scary about this… It was oddly exciting, no one had ever wanted to please him without something selfish in mind, without themselves in mind first… But this?

It was a nod.

A simple nod that changed everything…

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_You guys really hate me right now, I can feel it… *hides under a rock*_

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	60. Chapter 60

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Only one chapter this week, I didn't have much time to write, but I hope you like it anyway... Oh, and uh, here it is, I hope it does the story justice. *w*

**Clears throat** YAOI WARNING!

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**Chapter 60; This Fleeting Thing **

He'd done this to men before, remembered how he'd been taught, how ugly he'd found the act, how ugly he still found it to think about. Those forceful hands on his head and in his hair, the bitter unpleasant taste in the back of his throat, how degrading it was…

But he nodded.

He nodded because this was different, just like everything he'd experienced with Altair thus far was different.

There was no force in this, there was nothing disgusting, degrading or ugly about it.

Altair kissed his stomach, each hip and down to his knees. His fingers were firm, but gentle, rubbing small soothing circles on his hips and sides. He eased into it, no rushing, no insistence. It came naturally, gradually, just like kissing.

And Ezio watched him. Eyes heavily lidded as the older man touched him, wishing he could record it all so he would be able to play it back in his mind whenever he started to have a nightmare, remind himself that it was OK to want physical release, but there was a positive memory to draw on now and everything that had happened before was not a good representation of what he craved.

He wanted to cry at how wonderful it felt. How relaxed he was. He wanted to say his thanks, speak his gratitude that this man was giving him such unspeakable pleasure, wanted to thank him in some way, some way that would ultimately, to him at least, seem pale by comparison.

Instead he could do very little but cling to the fingers in his right hand and the sheet in his left, his stomach fluttering and tight, and watch himself disappearing and reappearing between Altair's lips.

Altair was vigilant, ears tuned in to only Ezio's voice, only the sounds he was making, listening for anything that sounded distressed or hinted he should stop. The last thing he wanted was to cause the younger man harm. He heard his name whispered a few times, not questioningly, or uncertainly, just his name, and there was something thrilling about it. Something fulfilling in a way nothing had ever been before. There was also some Italian he didn't quite understand, but if it was anything like the Arabic that slipped out he should be feeling quite pleased with himself, but instead, there was nothing else but those sounds and the knowledge Ezio was whimpering and calling out to God for the complete opposite reason than he had in his dreams.

When he opened his eyes again and looked up into the younger man's face, he could only see glassy but intent slits between heavy lids, a flushed face and parted lips fighting for air. He came up for a breath and worked a few more kisses across Ezio's stomach eyes questioning, asking permission to continue, asking if everything was alright as he watched the tension ease in those shoulders. Goose flesh rising like a rash on his arms and legs.

Ezio's left hand shook as it lifted his knuckles brushing lightly against the PI's cheek, expression somehow awed and maybe even a little confused. This wasn't just some act Altair was putting up with to please him and make him complacent, it wasn't just some trap he'd constructed to lure Ezio into perfect placement so he could take his own pleasure… Altair had wanted to do this because he loved him—This was _real,_ it was real and he'd known all along on some level, but it was still nice to actually fully realize it.

He smiled, eyes shining and overflowing, and when Altair grinned crookedly up at him he knew.

He wanted this because he loved Altair, not because he wanted an escape, not because he thought it was what should happen… He wanted it because he loved Altair with everything he had.

This was the man who would be there for him through everything. This was Altair.

He didn't speak, didn't think he was truthfully capable of it, just shifted himself lower in the bed, watching the expression on Altair's face change, the warmth adapting a slight wrinkle of curiosity between his brows before realization sank in and his brows shot to his hairline.

Altair's mouth opened to say something, but Ezio shushed him with a low hum in his throat, lower lip caught between his teeth.

Ezio's eyes didn't lift, just peered down between their bodies, heart thumping in his chest because Altair's erection was pressed against his thigh, just mere centimeters from his own.

"Are you OK?"

He nodded, humming again, worried that if he should try to speak he'd give away the fact he was nervous.

"You're quiet."

He nodded again and swallowed thickly, voice coming out soft like a whisper; "You'll stop if I don't like it, right?"

"Yes, but we don't—"

He looked up and their eyes met, gazes held.

Altair let out a breath and bowed his brow against the younger man's. "You can top if you wa—"

"I want _you…"_

For a moment it looked as if Altair might refuse him again, but then something in the PI's gaze changed. Softened, and he took another deep breath; "I'll stop if you don't like it."

Ezio didn't know what he'd expected, but Altair just continuing on as if nothing had changed wasn't really it.

Altair's hands were gentle, the right sliding beneath his shoulders, fingers rolling, rubbing deeply at the muscles, while his left moved, bracing him up on elbow and forearm while fingers massaged his scalp.

Altair's kisses were soft, working at the edge of Ezio's jaw, alternating in pressure from firm to light enough only to be felt as a breath. He nuzzled into the younger man's collar bone and breathed into his neck.

Chills ran up and down Ezio's spine and he melted into the touch.

He remembered week ago, waking up in his bed to that pressure in his sweats, the dream he'd had… The warmth and tenderness he'd imagined, the slow, languid pace, the painlessness.

This was that dream intensified ten fold. This wasn't ethereal conjurings of a sleepy mind, this was real. The dampness left on his skin from gentle laving at the side of his throat, the pressure of hands on his body… The gentle scrape of hair dusted thighs against his own. Even the firm hot pressure of Altair's length rubbing against his seemed somehow magical because it was real. Because this was not ugly, was not painful or humiliating. He didn't have to force himself to moan or breathe quickly, didn't have to separate himself from his body so his pleasure didn't make him sick.

He wanted to feel all of it, every beautiful second of it.

This man loved him. Had held him, had laughed with him, had cried with him, had refused to be what he wanted, but promised to always be what he needed, an understanding, patient, attentive, loving man who put Ezio's health and well being before his own wants.

This man…

Ezio framed Altair's face with his hands and for a long moment, laying there with the older man settled between his legs, just looked deeply into those gold eyes and felt that he was looking past them into his very soul. Something timeless and everlasting.

It wasn't a conscious thought, wasn't really as if he could visibly see it, or that there was a flash in his head, but he thought back to Monday night, thumb gently tracing the edge of the bruise underlining the other's eye. Altair had been a spot of blue amid the red in his mind. A cool, calm respite from the madness the violation of his home had caused.

It was hesitant, a light little press of their mouths that deepened. He could taste himself there, mixed with the familiar tang that was all Altair, and it truly was not unpleasant. They parted only a fraction of an inch, just far enough that Altair could move, find something off to the side, something that smelled faintly citrus like when it was eased back onto the bed.

Their eyes parted only once, and in that few seconds Ezio focused on the warmth, the flush of his skin and the heat in the other man's body. Oddly enough, when his mind brought up images of the strangers who'd done this to him, he couldn't find a single similarity, other than the basic functionality of the act itself.

There was nothing rushed about this, nothing forceful or demanding.

It felt almost forbidden, something that had always been just out of his reach.

It… it was funny.

He tried to choke it back, schooling his features, but failing every time his lips twitched, or a little giggle tried to work its way out of his chest.

Altair nuzzled his cheek, brows curled questioningly.

Ezio shook his head, eyes rolling, and a chuckle broke free. He covered his mouth to try and force it back in again, but another followed, and another and another until his shoulders were shaking and he felt almost hysterical.

Altair was smiling into his neck. He liked this sound. Liked how genuine it was, even as Ezio tried to stifle himself. "What're you laughin' at?"

He shook his head and found the PI's jaw with his hands, tilting his face up and kissing him again, his laughter slowly fading, head tilting to the side to find whatever it was that Altair had brought up onto the bed beside them.

Altair's lips began working at his throat, sucking lightly at the tendons on the side of his neck and the pulse point below his ear.

It was a nice distraction, even as he plucked up the items and examined them with scrunched brows and narrowed eyes.

His stomach bubbled nervously, mind picking up speed.

He'd encountered such things a few times, but they'd never just been there for his examination. They'd always just come into play like weapons before. And if he was honest with himself, it was kind of embarrassing actually looking at them and having control over them.

These weren't the boxed things he saw in the store and dismissed, it wasn't something he'd been horrified his father would slip into his wallet and _grin_ at him over… These things were for him, were to protect him.

"Altair?"

He lifted his head away from the pink mark he'd been focused on making and blinked a few seconds, taking a deep breath to re-center himself, and shake his thoughts back into focus before he spoke; "Yeah?"

"I—uhm… I haven't touched myself down there yet… I don't want to get down to business and realize I can't…"

He nodded slowly, understandingly, and shifted his weight to his left, scrutinizing the little tube Ezio still had in his hand. "Do you want to, or should I?"

He seemed to think about it for a moment, before with a flip of his thumb he popped open the cap.

Altair shifted to the side again, and just watched, resuming the light pressure of kisses along the top of the younger man's shoulder and throat.

Ezio's expression was wary, and he remembered laying in the bed upstairs at his grandparents' house, the phone pressed to his ear, hand down his pants.

Altair had felt close that night, and he was a little amused now looking back on it, realizing that Altair really was close now, was pressed against his side, listening to him, watching him.

It was nice to know Altair was not _waiting_. Wasn't planning what might be to come, but was ready. He was just watching, accepting whatever Ezio said was OK…

It made him feel very in control of the situation, in a way he never had before, and he was a little startled to realize the finger he'd been gently touching himself with was easing inward.

What a feeling… He paused a moment, just to experience it, eyes on the dim light across the ceiling without really seeing it.

The intensity of the sensation, not just physical, but the mental sensation of having breached himself was astounding, freeing. His breath caught in his throat and he had to take a moment to swallow past the tightness so he could breathe again.

This was his body, it was his choice, and nobody would ever take that away from him again.

He explored himself with the curiosity of one who'd never been touched before, slowly, eyes fluttering shut, lips parting, brows scrunched and lifted at the edges, and he felt so grateful that Altair let him experience this by himself. Grateful that the other man just sat back and watched without touching him while he fully absorbed the reality of having something inside of him again.

Altair only touched him minutes later when those hazel eyes opened, met his gaze and what he saw in them said with confidence that he was ready.

There was a moment as Ezio's hand retreated and folded trustingly across his stomach, and Altair's fingers took their place, that something dark and lingering passed away from them.

This was something special, something innocent that Ezio had worked so very hard to reclaim for himself, and he was willingly, openly giving to him.

He took his time, tilting his cheek into Ezio's bandaged left hand, letting those warm fingers trace the lines of his face and feather through his hair while he worked.

This place was soft, pale, and he eased his fingers into it, considering the implications of a faint line of a scar tissue he could feel as well as see, along with the mark. Visible and dark red against the high inner portion of Ezio's thigh, it made his chest ache remembering a mirroring mark painted on Ezio's bedroom wall, and the horror seeing it must have caused and he put all his energy into erasing those memories, into thanking the younger man for his trust. Lowering kisses and gently scraping his teeth over pleasure sensitized flesh.

He worked until the fingers in his hair tugged gently, and he lifted his face in question.

Ezio's eyes were shining and the dim, warm light through curtains made his skin glow. He smiled, fingers combing stray locks back and Altair took a deep breath before he slid his fingers free.

Ezio's breath laughed quietly when he couldn't get the condom packet open on the first second or even the third try, and he gently took it away and did it for him. Fingers shaking a little as he touched the older man for the first time, expression somewhere between curious and something new Altair thought looked oddly like tentative want.

Ezio swallowed, his throat feeling thick as Altair moved carefully over him, positioning himself. His heart pounded uncomfortably, his vision shrank in at the edges, and Altair hovered over him, watching…

He bowed close, offering a few of wonderfully chaste kisses. Kisses that said it was OK, there was no rush. Nothing had to happen, the choice was his.

His hands lifted tracing the shell of the PI's ears, fingers finding his shoulders and pulling.

They were still so close that Ezio stole some of the older man's breath when they gasped, and for a moment Ezio was overwhelmed, everything shutting down completely, his gaze turned inward.

It was so similar— but so very different… Then again, why was he surprised.

There was pain, a full and absolute stretch, but the burn of it, along with the heart stopping sensitivity of his tender inner flesh seemed to flash strobe like between agony and perfect bliss with each beat of his heart and shift of the older man's body as he gently nudged himself deeper Ezio's fingers tightened on Altair's shoulders.

For a moment all he was capable of doing was breathing, mind roaring, but his thoughts unable to translate into motion.

He wasn't sure, in that instant, if he wanted to stop, or continue, because despite the hurt of being penetrated, the familiarity of it, there was something there that never had been before…

Consent.

Altair was breathing heavily, bent over him braced on elbows at either side of his head, his expression obviously restrained, sweat was beginning to bead on his brow and his whole body was trembling.

"Are you OK? Y-you want me to stop?"

His fingers curled and scratched possessively and his eyes honed in on Altair's with keen deadliness. He didn't speak, but his expression said, very clearly, _'don't you dare._'

And then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the look was gone and Ezio was still again, eyebrows tilted upward, lips parted, breath coming out on quiet whimpers.

Altair knew, no matter how many times you did this, it was still a little painful. He was patient though, and just watched Ezio's expression as it slowly shifted, as his body slowly began to relax.

They lay together for a long while, just feeling it all, this new place where Self did not exist, this place where they ceased to be two separate people.

Altair whispered to him, light feather like brushes of lips against his face and his closed eyes, asking what he was feeling, if it was OK. Ezio answered him softly, nodding and returning the gentle touches, letting himself get to know this newness they shared.

The motion started gradually, a careful pull of hips, Ezio's lip between his teeth, eyes intent on the older man's face, arms and hands clinging, and a firm steady push that rocked them slightly in the bed.

They were still for a moment after, and Ezio swallowed, his nervousness fading little by little as he began to fully understand that Altair would actually stop if asked. He gave a little nod, lip released from between his teeth, breath shuddering from his chest, and the motion was repeated.

He could feel every shudder, every beat of the PI's heart, each breath and gasp and little restrained moan seemed to transfer itself through him. There really was too much thought on his part, but most of it revolved around the gleeful fact that he was having sex, he was actually having sex and everything was OK, the discomfort was minimal and fading and this wasn't bad.

There was no transplanting another man's face over Altair's, no flinching in preparation for pain because there really wasn't any. Maybe a tenderness because this was the first time in months that he had let anything, anyone touch him there, and in one morning he'd gone from a finger to having sex… There was no pain because between the two of them he'd been thoroughly prepared. It was just deep, bottomless sensation, and he was almost overwhelmed by how intense it was.

He melted back into it a little, relaxing himself.

He'd always been tense before, focused on relaxing that part of his body so the man he was with could have his pleasure unimpeded by cramped muscles and that uncomfortable tremble of pain.

But there was no need, this felt… it was—

"Why… W-why are you cryin'?"

Ezio slapped angrily at his cheek and shook his head, mouth moving but no sound coming out; _'I'm OK… It just—'_ His breath hitched in his chest, eyes fluttering, and the hand in Altair's hair pulled.

It was very different, that look.

Altair liked it though and his eyes flicked from the sudden roundness of Ezio's pupils and the arch of his brows, to the slack 'o' of his mouth, a hushed, breathy sound escaping as he inhaled.

There was no denying that look, or that sound, no misunderstanding for either of them.

They moved with a slow, unhurried pace. Thought gradually fading from outside things to the other, to themselves, to barely anything at all.

Ezio's mind became almost sluggish and his eyes fluttered shut, snapping back open a few times just to watch Altair moving over him, the play of emotion on his face, or to lock eyes with him and just absorb the flush of his cheeks, or that he had begun to bite at his lip between kisses. How he kept trying to stifle the sound of his pleasure but failed whenever he drew a noise from Ezio.

He liked that he didn't have to put on a show of whorish staged noises, liked that when he moaned or gasped it was because it just felt that good.

His thoughts faded from 'I'm really having sex' to that he hoped they were being quiet because he didn't want to be heard, to sometimes _wanting_ to be heard. Wanting everyone to know and be jealous that it felt so fantastic.

Even as he clutched tighter, fingers rigid on the left cheek of Altair's ass, his other hand tangled in the PI's hair, moaning and gasping into each kiss, he couldn't even make himself think about the men who had hurt him couldn't even force himself to compare this with what had happened to him before.

It was like day and night.

This—this wonderful, beautiful loving act was in a whole different ball park, a whole different city—a whole different GALAXY than what had happened to him and he never wanted it to end.

Altair tried desperately to control himself, he didn't want to do something that would hurt, or scare Ezio, didn't want to push too hard, or relax too much and go too fast. He wanted this to be special, because in all reality it was. He loved Ezio deeply and wanted to show him that, wanted to give the younger man as much pleasure as he knew how to give.

Ezio's body, so long of being quickly brutalized, latched on with all its might to the slow careful sensations Altair gave it, Ezio responded like a man dieing of thirst. Every little shift and motion was noticed and filed away in Altair's memory.

Ezio was so beautiful, his face relaxed, a picture of bliss, as if he'd forgotten every bad thing that had happened to him. And Altair was so grateful that he was able to offer that to him.

Each roll of their hips made the sounds rising from Ezio's throat higher, his embrace pull tighter, lower lip slipping between his teeth as the last moments ticked away.

Ezio pulled him close and bowed his head, his body going for a moment limp—it seemed to start at his toes and roll upward and throughout. He came with a little cry in his throat and Altair held absolutely still while it happened, just watching everything wash over the younger man's face, his own end rushing up on him with almost no warning as Ezio's body twitched and rippled around him.

Everything passes on, all glory fades, Altair knew this better than most, but lying there minutes later measuring his fingers against Ezio's, grinning at the sated, sleepy smile on his face, the bonelessness of his limbs and the peace in his expression Altair had reason to doubt the validity of that statement.

Time could ravage the both of them, could destroy the world and everyone in it but it would never erase what they shared or what they felt for one another.

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	61. Chapter 61

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_I most sincerely apologize to everyone for the atrocious and unforgivable lack of updates. I don't have any excuse really except that Ezio and Altair decided they wanted to hide in the bedroom and mess up the sheets instead of going out and doing stuff. So what I did get written couldn't really go into the story without it becoming completely centralized on mansex…_

_SO, as way of saying I'm REALLY REALLY REALLY sorry… Please accept the enclosed chapters, and the new Chapter of Family Men._

_Love, OZ_

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**Chapter 61; Mistaken Identity**

Marjory was surprised Monday morning, and it showed plainly on her face when Ezio came into her office looking, for lack of a better word… cheerful.

When she'd gotten the call from him days before she'd expected him to be in a vastly different state when he appeared. She expected, from what little he'd told her over the phone, that he was close to a nervous breakdown.

They spoke briefly about the vacation, Marjory asked how Ezio's grandparents were doing, if he'd had any fun. He showed her a few photos from his backpack, dealing them out from thick One-Hour-Photo envelopes stacked three deep inside it. Ezio asked how her husband was doing that the last time they'd spoken Carlos was recovering from a work related injury. Marjory said he was doing much better.

Then they got down to business. Ezio's expression hollowed somewhat and his eyes watered a little while he spoke. Detailing the break in and how violated he'd felt was difficult. Even more so when he told her that he'd punched Altair and that he'd made the older man bleed—then his expression changed, his cheeks going very pink, and Marjory was a little shocked at what she recognized in it.

That flicker had been very small the last time she'd seen him. It had slipped occasionally into his voice usually wiped out by his next words—_'I don't want—They wouldn't want me to do that.' 'I don't think—they said that's not a good idea…'_

It was the look that had first appeared after he'd succeeded with the mirror experiment she'd asked him to try. It was the recognition of himself as a person worthy of happiness… And when he looked at her now, he seemed to radiate it instead of hesitantly flicker like a candle about to go out.

She sat back and just looked at him for a moment in awe.

She wondered exactly what she'd missed in the three weeks since their last appointment, since he'd giggled to himself and described the cooking class he'd gone to with Altair, how he was excited but nervous, and that he didn't know what the hell he was doing, that he was just taking his father's advice and being cautious, but taking things as they happened.

"I—uh…" He cleared his throat, face going even more red. "I had sex with Altair."

Marjory dropped her pen.

"It…" He reclined in his seat and swept his hair back with both hands, eyes turned inward, mouth curled upward at the edges; "It was…" A chuckle and his hands folded at the back of his neck, cheeks puffed out as he exhaled to the ceiling.

"Did you enjoy it?"

His knees cocked outward slightly as he slouched; "A lot."

"Do you think you were ready for that, Ezio? Really?"

"Yeah." He bit at his lip and glanced embarrassedly to the side; "We… we –uh— did it more than once actually."

Marjory was grinning behind her fingers, trying to school her expression back into the professionally concerned look she always wore, but it was hard to do because Ezio's face was plainly excited, and just from how many sessions they'd had together she was quite familiar with his body language.

His stance was loose, slouched, confident, relaxed. Completely at ease with himself and his surroundings. He'd looked this way before, but usually only after he'd taken a few anti-anxiety pills. This though, was all him.

"I was sore all day, but I wanted to do it again… and again and again—Is that weird?" His nose wrinkled up.

Marjory shrugged one shoulder; "Sex is a very personal experience, and it's different for everyone. I would just caution you to please pace yourself, it may feel good but your body wasn't necessarily made for it. It may seem wonderful now, but your recovery is more important than feeling good."

"Yeah," His face reddened and his hands scraped up over his brow again, head tilted back, voice coming out almost in a laugh; "but it just felt so_ good."_

She chuckled lightly.

"It was a little overwhelming at first… Really intense."

"Were you nervous?"

He sighed, scratching at his neck, and nodded; "A little… It was new—" His nose wrinkled up; "Well, not new… but, it _felt_ new. It was completely different. Slow and—I can't really think of a word to describe it, but it was comfortable. I didn't feel pressured or used in any way. It was just us."

"And it was good?"

He gave her a look, a little smirk from under his lashes and in that instant Marjory felt a little jealous that it appeared to have been so fantastic, while at the same time she was happy for him. Happy that he'd been confident enough in himself and the relationship he shared with Altair to take such a substantial step.

"Are you going to discuss this with your family? Or is it private?"

He thought about it for a moment, his brows scrunched, then he blushed brightly; "I—I don't know if I want to tell them. It's kind of private." He rubbed his palms on his knees.

Marjory lifted her fingers dismissively; "It's your choice."

"Should I tell someone?" His nose wrinkled again, this time in confusion and maybe a little unease.

"That's your choice, Ezio. You have to decide if you want to share this or not."

He slouched a little more and scratched his nose; "Well… THAT put aside for a moment— I got a job."

Marjory looked genuinely surprised; "Really?"

"Yeah. Malik, the guy who owns the building Altair lives in—well, he said he needed some help in this printing house he runs… So I said I'd be happy to help out."

"Well, that was nice of you."

"I'll be making my own money—it may not be very much, but it's nice to have that bit of independence. It's kind of a relief to be able to do things on my own and not have to worry what everybody's thinking." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, lifting a hand to scratch at the back of his neck; "My parents said they don't mind taking care of me, and I know they don't, but it's just—it's just satisfying to be able to take care of myself."

"Independence is an important thing." She made a few notes in her legal pad and looked back up at him, brows drawing low because his expression was slowly shifting again, a crease forming between his brows, and she wasn't sure she liked it. "Is something wrong?"

He glanced to the side, fingers flexing on his knees. His expression now plainly troubled; "I… I can't go home, Marjory."

She blinked. "Why do you say that?"

He looked up at her and there was pain in his eyes; "I went back yesterday, my father had hired some people to come in and fix the damage, and it looked fine. Looked exactly how I left it, but I…" He frowned; "I don't know, it's not even that I don't feel safe there anymore, because Dad put up a new security system and my mother's talking about getting a dog… I just—I've spent the last week with Altair, and I… I don't—" His breath came out in a hiss and he dropped back against the couch again, "I'm past that point I think… I need to be on my own for a while."

"You mean move in with Altair?"

"No," He chuckled and shook his head; "No, I'm not ready for that. It's nice to-to spend the night or stay for a little while, but I'm not ready for a commitment like that yet."

"So, you mean having a place of your own?"

He nodded; "I need to know I can do it. And as much as leaving my parents' house hurts, I need it. It will always be my home but what happened made me realize that I can't hide from this. I don't want to hide from it anymore… I finally realized what you were trying to get me to understand with the mirror before." He swallowed with some difficulty; "This happened to me. I didn't ask for it, didn't deserve it, it wasn't fair and it wasn't right, but it happened… I can either let it rule my life and continue to be afraid and try to hide it. Try to make everyone believe nothing's wrong, or I can accept that it happened and keep going in spite of it." He took a deep breath, "It'll always be there, but there's more to me than just this." He touched the line across his lips. "I might not be able to do it all on my own just yet… But I'm ready to try."

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Altair was in his office when Ezio returned that afternoon. He was collecting pages from his printer and slipping them into a folder and when the door opened he looked up curiously, then smiled. One of those small, warm, secret smiles that made Ezio feel hot and certain muscles relax.

Ezio came in and dropped onto the couch behind him backpack on the floor at his head, arms folded behind his neck. "What're you doin?"

Altair spun lazily in his chair, his voice sounding a little robotic, obviously having the massage feature turned up full blast; "Putting a file together for Des."

"Oh?"

He nodded; "When they stop fighting he and Shaun make a good team. Shaun's good at paperwork and computer stuff, Desmond's good at leg work… I'm—I'm gonna see what they can find out about the guys who broke into your house."

Ezio was silent, somber for a moment, and the little smile that quirked his lips was grateful; "Thanks."

"You can thank me when I'm finished beating their heads in."

Ezio rolled his eyes; "I thought you said I could take 'em."

"You can… But I still want to stomp their fuckin' teeth into the curb."

He sighed and his hands came from behind his head, folding over his stomach, toeing off his shoes and pointing his knees skyward. "Get in line."

They were quiet for a few minutes, Ezio looking at the light playing across the wall to his left, Altair looking at the pattern of brightness and shadow through the blinds across the younger man's body.

Ezio looked weary and thoughtful and every so often his hands flexed into fists and back.

"What's wrong?"

He didn't answer at first, just shook his head, but Altair nudged his hip with his foot.

"You wanna talk about it?"

He sighed, and shook his head. "I'm just tired is all."

Altair hummed, propping his feet on the end of the couch, chin on his chest; "'kay, well if you do…"

He turned his head and locked eyes with Altair for a moment, voice coming out slowly; "That knife you have?"

Altair's brows drew down, but he nodded.

"Where can I get one like it?"

Altair hesitated, lips compressed; "Why?"

He hesitated, his mouth feeling very dry and perhaps covered in light fur; "Because that man who scared me at the Laundromat?"

"Yeah?"

"He was one of the men who broke into my house."

"How do you know that?"

Ezio hesitated, scratched nervously at his ear, and spoke more to the ceiling than to Altair; "I can feel it…"

Altair opened his mouth to speak, but Ezio beat him to it.

"I haven't told anyone else this, but I'm telling you because I need you to understand why seeing that Thing in my room like that scared me so much… I need you to know and I need you to understand why a bloody nose or a punch to the throat isn't going to stop these guys…"

Altair stared at him, feeling sick to his stomach… He nodded.

Ezio continued quickly, speaking clearly and precisely; "That mark on my thigh is a cult symbol… It—Borgia was one of many. Men who all knew one another, who formed a _club_ where they could—could indulge themselves. They were—_are_, all sadists." He snarled the words; "Rodrigo would find suitable 'subjects'. Hunt down their birth and medical records and a man with an accent was in charge of acquisitions— I only saw him once while they had the paper bags off our heads in the hotel, he was pale and wore a black knit hat… He hit me—" Ezio swallowed thickly, but continued; "They thought they were keeping bloodlines pure, like they were breeding cattle for slaughter. Some of them did treat it like breeding, they would beat you until you screamed, if you screamed early they would pass you around… the longer you could last before you screamed the better chance you had of not being raped." He swallowed; "Pain tolerance was important, if you had good pain tolerance and were old enough they would… would pair you up with someone and expect you to fuck like show dogs…"

Altair felt sick to his stomach imagining it, like those advertisements that came into Malik's shop three and four times a week… _'Registered female looking for stud, will pay for services or offer pick of litter'. _

"Ezio… did they do that to you?"

He hesitated, but nodded. After a minute he looked up at Altair and sighed at the panicked look on the PI's face; "I was too young, I didn't get anybody pregnant… Besides I didn't last very long." He glanced off to the side again and let out a deep sigh. "It was a game to them… they didn't see us as human. We were just merchandise. Just animals." He was quiet for a while, staring up at the bars of light moving across the wall through the blinds. "They worked independently but they had club meetings every once and a while, or would meet to show off new 'acquisitions' or buy and trade… Some were known for 'high quality merchendise' others for technique. Borgia was very particular when choosing his victims. He did detailed research, only picked kids from well off, highly educated, successful families. Everyone wanted one of Borgia's Bunnies… Those who couldn't afford one wanted a girl from The Regent. He always liked his girls heavier than normal, would feed and pamper them and dress them in silk and lace. And if they couldn't afford one of those, they usually just kidnapped some kid they saw on the street. But they were all subordinates to one man— The Collector." He swallowed again, as if fighting nausea. "He's a sick, sick man… The others were always afraid of him, tried to hide their favorites from him but he would take what he wanted because he was Grandmaster. He was the Leader and you don't tell him 'no'… The Collector only chooses certain children. A very narrow field of interest, and he's very particular as to who can touch them. He-he's also known for killing you before he's finished…"

Altair was gripping his chair so hard his fingernails were beginning to bend backward.

"He's the one who started it all, the very first of the four original Knights."

"Knights?"

Ezio nodded, "That's what they called themselves, they were on a fucking power trip or some shit, decided they'd been deployed by God to do these things. That it was their right… They're religious nutjobs who use god as an excuse to rape and murder little kids…" He sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth. "This-this man… The Collector… He was the one—" Ezio chuckled; "He was the one Desmond and I were initially supposed to go to, and if he'd known at the time Borigia would be arrested he would have taken me even without Desmond."

"Why?"

Ezio wiped his eyes on his wrist; "The Collector wanted a matching pair. Two young boys with dark hair and eyes, from a well off family high in society so the case would be high profile, dangerous… somehow, he found our names, but he made a mistake."

Altair was slightly disturbed by the grin on Ezio's face.

"He had Claudia's birthday and name, only Borgia thought it was _'Claudio'_… And he saw how much we hung around together and just assumed—it's kind of funny to think about…" He turned to look at Altair with an expression of honest amusement on his face; "Borgia thought Desmond and I were brothers. That was the only reason he grabbed us, if he'd known we weren't he wouldn't have bothered."

For a moment he considered putting everything Ezio had just said into the file, but that thought flew through his head like a humming bird, fast, fleeting and gone. He couldn't tell that to Desmond, couldn't let the younger PI know.

Desmond was just as scared as Ezio was, if not more, because he didn't know what those men were capable of. Telling him that all of the horror he experienced was because of a misspelling would frighten him deeply.

Altair couldn't do that to Desmond, couldn't look at Ezio and deny him the right to protect himself. So, with a rather difficult looking swallow he reached three fingers into his left sleeve and held the knife out.

Ezio stared at him, surprised, maybe even a little horrified for a few seconds.

"If you want this, the only thing I insist on is that you let me teach you how to use it correctly."

Ezio swallowed thickly, and nodded.

"This is a serious thing, alright. It's not something you can wave around and people will automatically do what you say. This is a deadly weapon… If you don't use this right and the other guy gets hold of it he won't hesitate. You have to understand that bringing this into a fight means you have to use it, and you have to use it effectively. Ezio, this means you're willing to kill to protect yourself—And that might sound admirable, but it's a hard thing to do. Killing someone isn't easy, it's not something you can shrug off or forget about… it haunts you. Even if it is in self defense, taking someone's life is not something you can easily forgive yourself for, believe me."

He swallowed and nodded. He knew what it was like, and maybe one day he'd tell Altair about his own experience, but at the moment he knew how important this was. That this was one of Altair's secrets. The PI had seen things in his life, had done things he wasn't proud of. And he didn't have to say it, Ezio recognized the shadow in his eyes, the taste of it was familiar on the back of his tongue. So he just nodded, listened, and absorbed it all.

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	62. Chapter 62

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**Chapter 62; The Stranger I Called Friend**

Altair had many connections across the city. Some of them were made through honest, lawful routes. Others… not so much.

One such connection was a guy Altair called Weasel. Weasel was not his real name, is real name was Mickey Delongue, and Altair only called him that because the guy was deeply entombed in the organized crime circle that still had hold of some of Chicago… More specifically, Weasel was a Narc. He sold out his 'friends' for immunity on certain charges ranging from assault and battery, speeding tickets, and even jaywalking.

Mickey the Weasel was, just as his name would imply, a fucking turd.

Altair didn't like dealing with the man unless he had absolutely no other choice and even then he would rather not…

The bad thing?

Weasel liked dealing with Altair because Altair would buy him a sandwich and a beer or slip him a couple Tylenol. So, whenever he had information that may be helpful to just about anything, and more often than not he made shit up just to get some food or some weak pills he could snort, he called Altair.

Altair could usually tell when Weasel was lying because the annoying prick said the word 'honest' too much. He also kept snuffing like he had a runny nose.

Altair usually hung up on him when he sounded like that.

But, on occasion, Weasel really did have information that could be useful, in which case he would most usually slip the words 'gayass dick' into his sentences.

Altair hadn't really known it until Desmond had started watching old detective films, but a 'Dick' was actually sometimes used as a short term for 'Detective'… And here he'd been thinking Weasel had been calling him a dick.

Weasel didn't want to let on that he had been.

Desmond, on the other hand, had no problem dealing with Weasel. And that was simply because he was very, very naïve.

Desmond was also, unfortunately, one of those morning people who wake up in a good mood on most days and try to insinuate it on everyone around them… But on Tuesday morning, unfortunately, he'd had a late shift at the bar the night before and had not gotten enough sleep. He tried to be cheerful, but he felt tired and cranky and add to that the new school year was starting and the usual bartender was returning meant that not only did Desmond need to find a way to make more money, he also had to find a new place to live… So, he was not surprisingly excited despite his bad mood, when he walked into the office that morning.

Shaun was already there, tidying up as Desmond walked in already grumbling that he didn't want to hear about how late he was, he knew he was fucking late but it wasn't his fa— and stopped dead in his tracks when he realized Altair wasn't even in the office. Then quickly remembered the older PI had actually taken a vacation this time… but that vacation should have ended, he should have been there.

"Where's Altair?"

Shaun shrugged noncommittally and continued sweeping.

Desmond grinned broadly, mood considerably lightened. "Well, looks like you're _my _bitch today, Hastings!"

Shaun glared at him in a way that was distinctly unpleasant, but chose to say nothing. He'd had a full week now without Desmond to build up his tolerance for idiocy, and within two seconds it had already worn very, very thin… At least he had his own desk and didn't have to share with the git.

"So Altair's calling in today?"

"I met Malik in the hall on his way out and he said to be very quiet and not bother him, maybe he's sick again."

Desmond was surprised. "I don't think he's sick. Maybe he got laid or something and's sleeping it off."

Shaun's nose wrinkled up; "Lovely mental image, thank you."

"So, do we just hang out 'till or if he shows up, or do we split and call it a day?"

"You can do whatever it is you want, as per usual, but _I_ am going to work while he's not here, ever thought that this may be a test, hmm?" He smirked at the flash of panic across Desmond's features; "We've been gone a week and if the files are correct, it looks as if absolutely nothing has been done. So I can't understand how this place came to resemble what I assume the inside of your head to look like if no one was in here."

"We were gone eight days, and Altair _was_ in here, see? There's a new case file! And it's MINE!" He brandished it like a shield before him, pointing to the Sharpie scrawl across the front that read 'Desmond and Shaun' then opened it and looked down his nose at the contents without really reading it. A slip of paper fell out and he put the file aside and picked it up, examining the address on it and a brief summary statement lightly scratched out with the word 'Fishy' in red ink. "And if you mean totally awesome and badass, then yes, the inside of my head does look like this."

"I meant messy and dust covered, you plus sized toddler."

"Ah, that was probably one of the weakest comebacks I've ever heard from you… Rough weekend?" He scanned the statement, recognizing the nickname but not liking that Altair had so quickly dismissed the man's testimony. Altair was always so quick to think Mickey was lying. He folded the paper and stuffed it into his pocket.

"My weekend is none of yours… Go away."

"Nope, sorry, Red, I'm here to stay." He plopped down in Altair's chair, stacked his feet on the desktop and pulled out his phone finding a game to play while they waited.

Shaun was quiet for all of seven seconds, then with a snarl snapped himself to his feet, stomped to the desk, gave Desmond's feet a hard shove back into the floor and snatched the file up, stomping back on his heels to his desk and dropping into his chair.

"What, you on your period this week?" Desmond snarled.

He pursed his lips, refusing to reply as he examined the summary page, and his eyes widened. "Oh, God…"

And that had Desmond's attention. "What?"

Shaun's face had lost all color and he turned slowly and motioned to the file; "This… this is solo… He—he wants us to do this ourselves."

Desmond practically sprang over the desk like a spider monkey and leaned heavily over Shaun's shoulder, staring at it in awe. "You mean it really_ is_ for me?" His eyes were wide and glittering with stars.

Then he actually read the summary himself.

"Holy shit… He-he wants us to investigate the break in at Ezio's house!"

The door opened and Altair shuffled in looking vaguely exhausted and as if he'd swallowed a couple muscle relaxants. He dropped heavily into his chair and only a few seconds later noticed Desmond and Shaun were there.

Desmond started talking before he could get even out his customary 'good morning' grunt.

"You want us to investigate the break in at Ezio's house?"

Altair nodded and yawned, scratching at the tender, itchy mark on the side of his throat with an irritated expression on his face.

Shaun and Desmond's eyes were drawn directly to it. Shaun blushed crimson and Desmond snorted; "You owe me twenty bucks Hastings… I told you he got laid."

Altair scowled and tugged the hood of his jacket up sharply.

Shaun snarled at him and politely ignored the statement, turning his gaze right to Altair; "Okay, so where do we start? Would you like me to get in touch with the police, or do you have a lead you'd like us to—"

"I can't help you."

Desmond blinked, cheeks gone vaguely pink in embarrassment. "Why not?"

Altair rubbed his face then leaned back in his chair with his palms exposed; "Conflict of interest… this one is all you. It's a good first case, easy—"

Desmond's eyebrows rose, nose wrinkling in a way that was distinctly unattractive; "What?"

Shaun's mind was already working at the speed of light. Eyes locked on the yellowing bruise on Altair's right cheek, the scabbed over gash under his eye… and that distinct purplish mark shaped like teeth on his neck. Something was distinctly off about this.

"What do you mean 'Conflict of interest'!" Desmond dropped both hands heavily to his sides expression bereft. "You're so full of shit! If this is another one of your weirdass tests like when you made me do all your filing left handed I'm gonna—"

Altair sighed and rubbed his face, he obviously had pictured this conversation going quite differently. "I would help if I could. But I have to keep my professional life and my private life separate, Des."

"What do you mean your pri—" Desmond's mouth froze, eyes widening, locked on the figure that had silently appeared in the doorway to investigate the shouting.

Shaun looked up quickly, his hackles on end because he hated it when people crept up on him… Eli was always sneaking up on him. And saw a rather disheveled young man with long hair wearing a rumpled Led Zeppelin t-shirt and gray sweats that were obviously too big for him. He didn't immediately recognize him… The face was a little puffy from sleep and the clothes were wrong—but then, suddenly, he _did_ recognize him. Remembered his sister grumbling the night before because she'd wanted to go visit her little brat of a boyfriend all week but been unable to—

_"Some arsehole broke into his house,"_ she'd said, eyes still locked on Shaun's feet while she tried to mimic the sliding movements he'd been slowly trying to teach her. _"His older brother got into a fight with his boyfriend in the street. Punched him right in the eye, then went home with the bastard… He's practically living with him now. Why would someone just break into his house like that! It's madness! I haven't seen him in three weeks, Shaun!"_

_"You'll see him all you want Thursday when you move in at University—No, flat foot backward, flat foot!"_

But Shaun rewound the conversation in his head;_ 'His older brother got into a fight with his boyfriend in the street. Punched him right in the eye, then went home with the bastard… He's practically living with him now.'_

Shaun continued to gaze at Ezio, sleep rumpled and staring in shock at Desmond. Then something in his head made an almost audible _click._

At first he tried to convince himself otherwise, but—

It was the look, the quick almost panicked look that shot across Altair's face when he realized Ezio was standing there.

Shaun found himself wondering quickly who played what role in the relationship, his mind conjuring up frighteningly detailed mental pictures of the PI going to town on the other young man, but then he remembered those words growled into his ear not that long ago; _'I've played 'bitch' to a few men, Hastings—' _and half a second later the image was reversed, Altair was sprawled on his back, legs in the air with the long haired young man thrusting roughly, quickly into him.

In that two second span of time it took for all this to run through Shaun's mind his lips compressed, eyes narrowed and a pinched little grin flitted across his face. A rather unsettling, almost demonic expression that disappeared as soon as it had settled into place.

Oh, this was just too precious.

He couldn't wait until Desmond figured it out… Shaun chuckled to himself. He would shit a brick! An absolute BRICK!

And Shaun saw it happen. Saw it as if perhaps someone had slapped Desmond right in the face.

Desmond, despite what Shaun said and wanted to believe, was not quite as dense as he wanted him to be. Desmond was, in fact, quite intelligent, but he was also very very naïve. This whole time he'd been present while Ezio was there he'd just assumed, rather good naturedly, that Ezio had just struck up a friendship with the older PI. Something rather juvenile, much like his own relationship with Altair. But now it was all twisting in his mind, the curtains were pulled back and he became horrifically aware of what had been happening right under his nose.

"You…" His nose wrinkled up in disgust and he took half a step backward, eyes widening in horror, his whole body seeming to bristle like a porcupine on the defensive, eyes flicking right to Altair's like daggers. "You're fucking him…"

"Des—"

He advanced that half a step again, putting himself between Ezio and Altair protectively, left hand raised and pointing almost violently, face a twisted mask of anger and disgust; "You—you're _fucking_ my best friend!"

Altair gave him a calm meaningful look but remained silent, watching Ezio try to calm the younger man down. Pulling at Desmond's arm, speaking quietly but firmly.

"I can't beli… W-what—WHY! What the _hell _is _wrong_ with you!" He fisted his hair and turned in a complete circle in his distress. "He's—and you're… You're…" He made a smothered, choking noise and covered his mouth, just staring with a plainly hurt expression on his face.

"Des… If I could do this myself I would. But I can't…" He swallowed thickly and took a deep breath; "I know it's scary—"

"You don't know _anything!"_

"—I'll give you my opinion and support you as much as I can, but I can't take this case."

"And how the fuck am I supposed to take it!" He shrugged off Ezio's hand and pointed at the file with a rigid finger; "Those same assholes took me just like they did him. How do I know they won't come after me too!" His eyes became something dark and disgusted, voice dropping. His face contorted and his lips rolled back from his teeth, "Or is that why you were so nice to me when I was a kid? You were trying to _groom_ me into your little pet but he came along and—"

"Desmond, you're about to say something very-very stupid." Altair's expression was dangerous. Something dark and horrifyingly natural on his face, predatory and mad and hurt all in the same instant.

Desmond didn't even look at him, just let his hand ball into a fist and his body shifted as if ready to spring forward—

Ezio didn't know how to explain himself, but he knew he couldn't let this happen, couldn't let the tension he'd felt growing in the air coming to a head like this, and he shifted forward putting himself bodily in the way of Desmond's anger, his eyes dark and serious, voice lowered in warning. "Don't do it."

Desmond's teeth clicked together his mouth shut so quickly and his breath froze in his chest.

Ezio took a slow breath and stepped close, lowering his voice; "You're angry, I understand that, but don't do something you'll regret. Just THINK for a minute, Desmond... If he were hurting me do you really think I'd be here?"

Desmond shoved back from him, glaring, hateful words forming on the back of his tongue, but he restrained himself, turning his gaze back to Altair like dagger points.

Altair didn't try to explain himself, which seemed very strange to Shaun, as a bystander to the situation, but the longer he stood there caught in this triangle of tension the more he began to realize that Altair and Ezio simply couldn't explain because what they shared was not rational and couldn't be explained at will. Love was strange like that, it was unpredictable, inexplicable, and often irrational.

Desmond's face scrunched up and he turned slowly, very very red.

Altair knew that look, Malik's kids, off and on, made that face and he feared the oncoming temper tantrum with the very depths of his soul. Feared Desmond may try to hurt Ezio and he'd have to slug the kid to make him stop. He didn't want to hurt Desmond, but he didn't want Ezio to be hurt either.

But Desmond didn't start screaming and jumping up and down stomping, or fly at him fists ready, he remained frighteningly silent, left hand sliding toward the pocket of his jeans and folding his hand around that slip of paper containing Mickey the Weasel's 'information'.

As if sensing the pressure in the room the clouds that had been gathering for the better part of a week finally began to split and a distant roll of thunder echoed up and down the street.

Desmond's lips pulled back in a rather dangerous looking grin; "Fine…" His voice was terribly calm, controlled; "I don't need you anyway. I can do it without your help." And he walked quickly, silently from the room.

Shaun watched him go, wetted his lips, gave Altair and Ezio a mournfully apologetic look and stood, swinging on his jacket. Snatched up the file, and followed.

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	63. Chapter 63

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_Hey, guys. I'm really sorry for the delay. My husband's half brother David passed away suddenly on the twenty-first… Things haven't been very good over here since so I haven't had time to write. I did however finish this chapter and more are coming, it may just take me a little while.  
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_Anyway, I hope you enjoy this one, sorry it's not so very long._

_OZ_

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**Chapter 63; Age of Reason**

Altair sat at his desk for a long while, head in his hands.

_Well,_ he thought, _that was definitely ugly._

He took a deep breath and let it out in a hiss.

Desmond had been coming to his office just about every day for nine years. He'd been like an annoying little brother. Always there, smiling and expectant even when Altair hadn't wanted him to be. The little shit had been there every day, sometimes all day. Asking for help with his homework, snuffling and sniffling through nightmares on Altair's couch—

Altair remembered even waking up a few times, years and years ago, cracking his eye open and seeing Desmond curled up on top of the blankets at the foot of his bed like a little lonely puppy or something.

It had seemed really weird at first, until Malik had taken him aside one morning as he'd been about to tell the kid to go home and stop acting like a fucking stalker— and said that Desmond's father had yelled, had said something horrible and Desmond had shown up in the middle of the night looking for some form of comfort.

Altair felt like he'd shoved his foot in his mouth…

After that the futon couch had appeared, taking place of Altair's nice leather three cushion, and Desmond had a change of clothes in the bottom drawer of his desk.

Annoying little brother. That fit Desmond perfectly.

Altair had become comfortable with that, he'd always wanted a little brother after all. It was nice…

But now Altair was faced with a new aspect of that… He'd done something that had hurt Desmond. Yeah, the younger man would get over it, he got over things rather quickly, he didn't hold a grudge, couldn't even if you duct taped it to his hands most of the time. Desmond would eventually accept it, would make jokes and laugh and everything would be OK again… but that look in his eyes, what he'd been just half a second away from saying was everything Altair had been afraid the world was thinking.

He took another deep breath and let it out slowly.

"You OK?" Ezio's brows scrunched, his expression pained.

Altair shook his head and gave his hand a dismissive flip.

"Do you want to go after him?"

When he shook his head again Ezio let out a sigh and padded over. He fitted himself between the desk and Altair, drawing the older man forward so he could comb fingers through his hair and the PI could wrap arms around his waist. He leaned his hips back against the desk; "Do you want me to go after him?"

Altair grunted softly finding the hem of Ezio's t-shirt with his teeth and tugging on it gently.

"You think he'll be OK once he cools down?"

"Uh-huh… I just feel shitty for having to let him find out like that."

Ezio hummed; "I thought he knew already… It's not like I've been keeping this a secret."

Altair grunted in amusement, nuzzling Ezio's stomach and planting a few little kisses around his navel.

"I did tell you what Marjory said about this, right?"

"That she's completely jealous and wants my body?"

Ezio snorted and reclined a little, hands slipping slowly on the papers scattered across the PI's desk. "That I'm not supposed to over do it."

Altair smiled against his stomach; "Over _do_?"

"Smartass. Get off." He ruffled Altair's hair lightly and pushed against his shoulder.

"Hmm, good advice."

"Altair…" He rolled the word over his tongue, not a plea or a question, just his name.

He smiled crookedly and glanced up through his lashes, "I'm trying to be funny."

"Trying, being the key word here."

He grunted and pressed his cheek into Ezio's stomach hefting a long, slow breath.

It was quiet for a few minutes, Ezio just combing his hair back and forth and the distant rumble of thunder.

"Wanna help me look for an apartment?"

"Hmm?" He tilted his head and peered upward curiously.

"I told you… I want to find a place of my own."

Altair sighed; "It's expensive."

"I know that, but I'm going to be working down stairs, remember?"

He rolled his eyes. "What kind of place do you want? How many bedrooms?"

Ezio snorted; "As long as it's got its own bathroom I don't care."

"Well, that's just about everything… Seriousy, do you want a studio, or something more traditional?"

"Something small" He snorted. "What're you gonna do, huh? Offer to decorate it for me?"

Altair snorted back; "Seriously? You've seen my room. I make most gay men cry for my lack of fashion sense."

Ezio pinched his cheek and cooed amusedly. "My sister already said she wants to do the decorating, sorry."

"Damn, and Hobo Chic is really in style this season."

Ezio couldn't stop himself from laughing, leaning upward to kiss the older man simply because he couldn't help himself. "Well what else can we do, its gonna start raining soon."

Altair looked up at him from under his lashes again.

Ezio snorted; "Other than that."

He hummed in response and his eyebrows drew down in thought. "We can make prank calls down stairs to annoy the shit out of Malik."

"You sound like you've done that before."

"Frequently."

"Hmmm, tempting… but no."

"And sex is out of the question?"

"You're a sex maniac."

"I'm trying to make you laugh again, I wasn't serious."

"If I'd said yes you wouldn't have complained though."

"No, I wouldn't have."

"At least you admitted it."

"Hmm," Altair scratched absently at the back of his head, Ezio now practically straddling his lap, right hand loose and easy on his hips; "You wanna help me dye my hair back so my fucking roots aren't so glaringly obvious?"

"No… I hate the smell of hair dye."

He shrugged and found his fingers making gentle kneading motions against the younger man's backside. "Not really much else to do unless you wanna watch me organize paperwork or pick out a new vibrator or something."

Ezio's face went very pink and his fingers tightened on the PI's shoulders, breath coming out in an almost embarrassed sounding giggle; "W-what?"

Altair felt heat rise to his own face and he couldn't bring himself to say it again; "You heard me."

"Do you really need another one?"

He rolled his eyes; "You're supposed to replace them every so often—And I don't have THAT many."

"I saw your toybox, Altair."

"Just because the box is big, doesn't mean the things in it are. Besides I keep other stuff in it too."

"Like what?"

"A flashlight… Candles—"

Ezio snorted; "I bet they're those scented ones like my sister has… 'Passion Fruit' and 'Bahama Mama' or something. I bet you set out a bunch of them and take bubble baths."

"So what if I do?"

Ezio's grin deflated and his eyes widened.

Altair chuckled at the plainly shocked expression on his face. "Y-you look like I kicked your dog or something."

"At least it got you to laugh."

He hummed, grinning fondly up at him. "You win."

"Good, you finally admitted it." Ezio bumped their mouths together, his smile widening, eyes sliding shut as the warm solidity against his inner thigh became more prominent. He hummed in his throat.

"Hmm? What?" Altair blinked up at him, mouth still quirked impishly to the side, eyes shining from beneath his lashes.

"How many _things_ like that, _do_ you have?"

He didn't answer at first, nose wrinkling as if deep in thought and when he spoke it was quiet, half a whisper. "Too many."

"Then why have them?"

"Have you ever tried one?"

He shook his head—

Altair's smile grew. "You've never had any experience with toys?"

Ezio thought for a moment, his gaze turned inward, genuinely surprised. It was alittle exciting, realizing there still was something that his body was not familiar with. He knew what they were, knew Rosa had kept something in a little black shoe box under her bed. Something that made soft buzzing noises and every so often would cause her to mewl loud enough that he'd been able to hear it where he'd been sleeping with Leo spooned protectively against his back.

Altair chuckled deeply in his chest and there was something about the sound that made Ezio rock gently in his lap, something promising but at the same time without threat.

"If you're ever willing, I'd be glad to introduce you to the… the subject."

Ezio lifted his chin, looking calmly down his nose at the PI, leaning forward to hook his arms around the older man's neck. "You did promise to show me what was in that toybox of yours."

Altair's grin widened. "I can show you more than that. I'll give a full fledged demonstration if you want me to."

"This sounds so very counter productive to the whole 'take it easy, don't over do it' thing Marjory was talking about."

Altair chuckled and eased the younger man back onto his desk, hands firm and supportive on the small of his back and shoulders.

A cup of pens toppled over as Ezio lay back across the mussed files and stacked pages, fingers delving into the mess of Altair's hair, feeling that secretive laughter bubbling up in his throat.

"We don't have to have sex… Sex is nice, but there are other ways besides that."

"Oh?"

He grunted and nuzzled the growing bulge at the front of Ezio's pants. "You might like it."

"What exactly is in that box, Altair?You said before that it's full of black plastic."

He grinned. "Among other things."

"Like that thing you were using on your birthday?"

"Oh, that…" He flushed, grinning; "That one was a new acquisition."

"Wanna share?"

"Sorry, Ezio. I don't share my toys. Never have, never will."

He poked his lip out dramatically.

"But I don't mind at all getting one just for you…"

Ezio snorted; "Just for me, huh?"

"Uh-huh… If you want it."

"I don't buy anything before I see it work."

"That can be arranged."

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Shaun drove an Oldsmobile. A dark blue four door Olds with a large dent in the back passenger side door where poor Shaun had been victim of the classic Supermarket Door Ding, and nobody had had the common courtesy to leave their name and information behind to take responsibility for it.

Desmond was already halfway down the block by the time Shaun made it to the street and had climbed behind the wheel. It felt like something out of a B movie as he drove along beside the younger man waiting for him to get the hint and climb in.

And by that time Shaun had exhausted his vocabulary of expletives and resorted to calling Desmond a 'Stupid-STUPID STUPID _STUPID!'_

Desmond finally did get the hint apparently, because he looked over at Shaun with an expression of near bereavement on his face and stopped dead in his tracks.

"You're annoying." It had very little force behind it. But, he sighed deeply and shuffled over, climbing in without any sort of verbal retaliation aside from that.

Shaun grumbled at him and made his way through traffic, heading toward the highway. He didn't ask where Desmond wanted to go, didn't say where he was going. Sometimes when you were angry, you just needed to drive. Didn't have to go anywhere, or do anything, just needed to watch the world pass by through a car window and ignore the radio for a while.

"Why did you pitch such a fit back there?"

Desmond just shook his head, slouched low in his seat watching the city slowly pass.

"Look, I'm not trying to be a NoseyNorbert, I'm honestly curious… A-are you—"

"Shaun, just shut up… It's none of your business." It lacked force.

"No, it is my business, if this involves the case, I deserve to know. And from what you said back there, it does." He made a gentle chopping motion at the steering wheel; "I know you don't like me, you've made that perfectly clear, but we've got to suck it up, put aside our differences and do this correctly, understand?"

Desmond didn't act like he'd heard him at all.

"Desmond… Stop acting like a little child—"

"It scares me, Shaun…"

"What? What scares you? The two of them being together?"

He shook his head, took a deep breath and let it out slowly; "No all of it… All of it in general, just— It just scares me, alright?"

Shaun was quiet, staring straight ahead unblinkingly.

"Ezio came back and all this… this stuff had happened to him, and that just made it worse." He sucked in a shuddering breath and let it out; "It made me realize that there were people out there who wanted to do the same thing to me—who would have done the same thing to me if it hadn't been for Altair, and it scares me shitless OK?"

He glanced at him a few times, eyes flicking from the road to the young man slumped in the passenger seat and back.

"How can he still want it after all this shit? W-what if Altair really is just—"

"But he's not…"

"You don't know that—"

"Yes, I do."

Desmond looked at him for the first time then, brows scrunched; "How can you know that?"

"I'm very good at reading people. It's like a sixth sense. Most of the time I just know… It's the same reason I can tell you're lying through your teeth right now."

Desmond's eyes widened and his face went pale.

"It's not completely that you're afraid, not as much as you're pretending to be… You're a bit jealous."

"You're so full of shit—"

"—You think that since you knew Altair first that he should be your friend only… It's a little amusing actu—"

"Shut up, Shaun!"

"—I thought for a minute that you had a crush on him, but there wasn't really anything sexual between the two of you, although your imitation of him is a bit laughable—"

"Shaun, if you don't shut your mou—"

"—It's nothing to be ashamed of. Perfectly normal… Altair's your hero, you're older-sibling-remodel if you will… And along comes Ezio, your best friend, and steals his attention in the absolute worst way."

Desmond's jaw was tight, his lips compressed into a thin pale line on his face, but he didn't say anything.

"You feel betrayed, it's perfectly normal, as I said before…" Shaun sighed in an irritated fashion; "If I were being honest with myself I'd say it was the same reason I despise that little Auditore brat Elizabeth's so enamored with."

"No," Desmond's face still read anger; "You don't like him because he's a horny seventeen-year-old boy and your sister's your sister."

Shaun snorted but didn't say anything in the negative, Desmond was not completely wrong.

"And I'm not jealous."

"Right…"

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NOTE!

_To Vamipress-Alexiel… _

_Oh, dear sweet Vampiress… you have no idea. *hugs you* Just for you, my dear, I've posted a collection of a few edited chapters from Fast Cars. I hope you enjoy it._

_Love, OZ_

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	64. Chapter 64

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_NOTE; Hey, guys. Thanks so much for your support, hubby says thank you too. I just wanted to leave a note to let you all know that things will hopefully be getting back to normal, and as a thank-you, I've FINALLY posted the first few chapters of the Shaun Des story, it's called 'Men That Fly With Capes' *You can thank Hubby Dearest for the name* and it might need a little explanation. It will be taking place during the second half of Fast Cars, which officially begins now. Men That Fly won't really be all that long, and is mainly focused on Shaun and Desmond and their investigation into the break in at Ezio's house, with maybe a few spoilers for Petruccio and Eli thrown in IDK yet. But, I warn you, that fic doesn't end pretty… _

_AND! I want to extend a formal Thank You to my dear friend who sent such a long, wonderful review and gave me some awesome ideas! And, as a bonus, Hubby Dearest helped me find good photos of actors and actresses that look almost exactly how I pictured the characters here in the Fast Cars universe. You can find the list on my profile, at the bottom, as well as a link to one of the playlists I listen to when I'm writing. I don't know if any of you would be interested, but it was a lot of fun to put together. _

_Love OZ, and Hubby Dearest. _

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**Chapter 64; Homeward Bound**

September seemed to steal up on Ezio without warning. He'd become accustomed to falling asleep spooned to Altair's side, the PI's strong arms wound around him protectively. That low, calm voice whispering in his ear when he would wake from a nightmare and the familiar press of his body formed to the older man's. He'd become so attached to Altair's smell on his pillow that it was odd thinking that he was about to go home for a week and would be without it.

Altair's apartment had started to feel like _home_ for him, going back to his parents' house was… Weird.

But, Altair did have work to do, he wouldn't admit it, wouldn't ever tell Ezio how far behind he was falling, but Ezio knew it. He was a rational person most of the time, he understood that Altair's job was important, his work was important, besides. He hadn't had a nightmare in almost four days now. He'd be fine staying with his parents for one week. It would give Altair time to catch up on his work, and it would give Ezio time to spend with his parents and go see Petruccio at college… And spoil baby Giovanni R-O-T-T-E-N.

They took a cab together across town, Altair understanding Ezio's need to spend as long as possible with him… Kind of sharing it himself if he were being honest. He wanted to laugh and scrub his face in embarrassment, wondering if there were not something strange about him that he'd started thinking like a prepubescent girl. All rainbows and cotton candy and dry, sweet little kisses.

Ezio, out of habit, had rationalized his feelings into words that morning in the shower after he'd been reluctantly coerced into helping Altair dye his hair back to its natural color, "It's the excitement… We're both excited that we've found someone we can think about all that lovey-dovey bullshit with and not have to worry about being giggled at because nine times out of ten, they're thinking it too!" He wiped water out of his eyes with his wrist and continued scrubbing Altair's scalp under the spray with rigid fingers, trying to get out all the excess colorant.

Altair snorted and scooped water away from his mouth, "Just as long as neither of us start thinking about pillow fights, tea parties and fluffy plush unicorns my last remaining shred of manly dignity can remain intact."

So, of course that's exactly the mental image that popped into Ezio's head… And if Altair had wanted to be honest, which at the moment he most certainly did not, he would have shamefully admitted the same thing.

"Says the man who owns a bright pink corset."

Altair held up a finger and spoke in a rather matter-of-fact tone; "Fuchsia… and it's not a corset, it's a bustier."

Ezio came to the conclusion shortly afterward, that he would die a happy man if he could only get Altair to wear the damned thing with a pair of lacy womens underwear. And barely two seconds after he'd realized it, he decided that maybe… just maybe, he'd gotten a little more from his mother than just her eyes, and because of that, perhaps it hadn't been wrong at all that he'd wanted to have sex again… and again and again and again… and again. It was genetic after all… Yeah, that had to be it.

Claudia answered the door when Ezio knocked, the curious smile on her face twisting into something Ezio didn't really know how to name, and her arms went around his neck like a python, squeezing, kissing the side of his face happily. "You're home! You're _HOME!"_

Altair stayed off to the side with his face turned respectfully to his shoes, acting as if he were not watching everything from under his hood.

Ezio and his sister spoke back and forth in Italian for a few moments, Claudia pulling compulsively at his hair and staring into his eyes, nodding while he spoke, obviously not listening, just exceedingly happy to have her brother home.

Ezio chuckled and started nodding his head in sync with his sister; "Are you going to let me go so I can say goodbye? Or does he have to wait until you're finished?"

Claudia didn't really move at all, her eyes just flicked to where Altair was standing patiently with his hands shoved into his pockets.

"Oh," She said, stepping backward and framing her face with her hands; "Sorry… go ahead I'll just—" She disappeared inside, her shoes clacking against the foyer floor as she fled in embarrassment.

Altair smiled at her back, feeling kind of warm inside that she and Ezio had such a close relationship. That Ezio had such a close relationship with his family in general.

Ezio was grinning at him when his focus returned to the younger man. Grinning in something akin to deviousness. His hazel eyes were narrowed and when he took a step toward the PI there was something in the way his hips swung a little wider than usual that made the press of Altair's fly a little uncomfortable.

Ezio's fingers tangled in his sleeves and pulled, drawing the older man forward so their lips bumped together. "Don't get into too much trouble while I'm gone, alright?"

"Hey," He grinned crookedly; "This is me we're talking about here."

"Exactly."

Altair took a deep breath and let it out slowly, wrapping his arms loosely around the younger man's shoulders; "Hmmm… What's your favorite color?"

Ezio snorted; "What? Why?"

"I'm going to make a few online purchases this evening and—"

Ezio's face turned bright pink and he covered the PI's mouth with both hands; "Blue—It's blue alright!" He muttered a curse in Italian; "My sister is hiding right behind the door, she can hear everything you say!"

"I was talking about socks," He said, the sound muffled and distorted behind Ezio's palms.

"Socks, right." Ezio felt his face heating up further and he tried to force himself not to grin; "Fine… Just keep in mind that I don't have very many places I can hide my _socks, _so don't go overboard!"

Altair's brows scrunched down seriously and he nodded, but his eyes were still flashing impishly.

Claudia peeked around the door and scowled at them. Ezio couldn't see her, as his back was turned, but Altair saw the grin spread over her face. He had a feeling she had been a holy terror of a tattletale when she was young.

"Ah," He lowered his voice, the Arabic syllables rolling easily off his tongue now that Ezio had removed his hands; _"Your little sister's giving me the stink eye… Is that the signal the date's over?"_

Ezio patted his cheek and gave him a quick, chaste little kiss; _"I think so, unfortunately."_

Altair nodded, bowing their brows together; _"Alright… How about dinner on Friday?"_

_"Hmmm,"_ Ezio frowned and shook his head apologetically; _"My parents' anniversary is Friday. Claudia, Federico, Petruccio and I are taking them out to eat."_

Altair nodded. "How about Saturday?"

"Yeah, Saturday sounds good." He smiled and offered a few more quick kisses, then had to turned his head and glare over his shoulder because he could just FEEL Claudia ogling them. "Do you _mind?"_

"Yes, actually, I do… I've never seen two men kissing up close before." Her eyes were as big as dinner plates. "Don't mind me… I'm not even here." She shrank back until she was nothing but curled fingers, a fringe of dark hair and two big eyes.

Ezio rolled his eyes and muttered something Altair couldn't quite understand, then faced him again.

_"I'll call you later, yes?"_

_"Sounds good… If you're busy though, don't worry about it. I'll call after __noon__ tomorrow. I've got to go to the DMV and renew my ID so that'll take up all my morning."_

Ezio snorted and pulled his hood over his eyes; _"Sucker."_

Altair grinned a little bit, one of those small, intimate little grins and pulled Ezio close. Bumping their mouths together a few times, saying it with the firm gentle pull of his hands and his closeness and the warmth in his chest that seemed to expand outward and encapsulate them.

Ezio felt it himself, and bowed his face into the older man's brow, allowing them a few seconds to think all those embarrassing lovey-dovey bullshitty thoughts and not be ashamed of it.

And then Claudia had to make a high pitched cooing noise in her throat and ruin the moment.

"Oh, you're DEAD!" Ezio spun around and lunged at her, stopping cold in the doorway when she shot down the hall toward the kitchen. He took a step back, grabbed Altair by the edges of his hood and drew him down into a kiss. Relaxing into it, commanding it with the heat of his tongue and the want in his soul—

Altair felt a little bit of his brain melt and was glad for it.

"'Love you… See you Saturday, right?"

Altair nodded, face split by a crooked grin, his eyes glazed a little. He walked backward down the steps, unsure really how he managed it without falling and breaking his neck, but by some miracle or the grace of a God he didn't really know if he believed in, he made it safely to the street and bowed his head so he didn't have to see the door shut, and the image he had of Ezio burned into his mind would be what he had to look forward to until Saturday could remain unchanged.

_Holy fuck, I'm such a sap… Oh well… At least I'm not the only one._

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Ezio took his time hanging up his backpack and jacket then kicking his duffle bag into the corner so it wasn't in the way of the door. He toed off his shoes and poked his tongue out at Claudia where she was peeking around the kitchen door at him GRINNING.

Mama came down the stairs a few seconds later with a towel wrapped around her head, water still clinging in little diamond like droplets to her face and neck. Her blouse was even darkened by moisture in a few places. She seemed to come down at a dead run and grabbed Ezio around the shoulders sobbing quietly into his neck that she was glad he was safe and so sorry about what had happened.

Ezio felt a pang of sympathy, his mind turning over what she must be feeling. As violated as he had felt by the break in, his mother must have felt it doubly, not only had her home been broken into, but the life or one of her children had been altered because of it. Ezio's sense of safety had been shattered for a second time because of it.

They clung together for a while without saying anything, words purely emotional fluctuations between them. Like smoke signals or morse code between two distant points.

Eventually Maria stepped back and held Ezio at arms length, petting his hair from his face, straightening his collar. Her expression said she wanted to talk, wanted to ask questions, and reassure herself that he was OK because she simply could not bear the thought of him in as much pain as he had been the night they returned.

Ezio gently took her hands, tilting his head so their eyes met once more; "Mama…"

Her fingers tightened on his; "I…" She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, putting on a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes; "Come with me, I have to fix my hair, we can talk…"

He nodded and followed her quietly. His chest tightened as they neared the stairs, images of that hateful, dripping black line coming back like a badly edited film. Flashing and flashing and flashing in his mind.

The cleaners had repainted the walls, the color just a little cooler than they had been before. Eggshell instead of Tuscan Sun… He remembered his mother picking that color years and years ago, snorting when she'd read the name on the paint chip; _"The sun looks no different in __Tuscany__ than it does here."_ She'd said.

The photos had been replaced, the frames new, or repainted. The big square mirror in the hall had been exchanged with a round one, some gaudy thing with a thick gilt frame and fat little cherubs on it… He had a feeling Aunt Valencia had sent it. She always did have the taste for opulence.

His feet froze in the carpet though, when they reached the end of the hall, just two steps from turning into his parents' bedroom and he found himself staring into his own. Heart thudding frantically against his ribs.

It looked almost exactly as he had left it. The walls were repaired a fresh coat of aquamarine put up just for him, though it was a slightly brighter shade of it. His bed was made, a new pale cream comforter and pillows and mattress. The carpet had been pulled out exposing hard wood floors newly refinished in a warm cherry color. There was a new chair at his desk, a new desk itself… His ruined clothes had been replaced… It looked as if nothing had happened.

Fixed, repaired, replaced…

And it hit him, a blow so solid it left him utterly drained and unable to so much as shiver in its wake. _A home is just a building…_ _A building can be demolished, rebuilt and reshaped. Its wounds can be completely erased… A person's cannot. This will always be with me. I could cut my hair, and change my name, move into a __new city__ all by myself and it wouldn't change anything. No matter where I go, what I do, it will always be there. _

"Ezio?" Maria's hands tightened on his shoulders, and he could feel her need to pull him to her chest and make it all alright again. Could feel her deepset knowledge that it would fix everything… But at the same time he knew it wouldn't. It would only help to make the pain easier to bear, but it wouldn't cure anything. Wouldn't fix it… just ease the burden of its weight for a few moments.

That childish side of him that believed a mother's touch could cure anything, that love and acceptance could heal any wound, passed on into the night.

He'd been presented with this choice before, come to this realization before as well… But it hadn't meant as much then as it did now, because before he'd held out a little bit of that childish hope that he'd be able to go back to the way things were. But now he knew the truth. There is no going back, there is only moving forward, or being drowned in the flow of time.

_I can learn to live with it, I can move on and have a wonderful, happy fulfilling life, but that won't change this. It won't erase what happened to me, nothing will… _

_And… that's OK. It may not be OK right now, may not be OK tomorrow or the next day, but I'm strong enough to do it anyway. The good will outweigh the bad of this sooner or later…_ He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to focus on something good about all of this. Something he had to look forward to. _My family is here… I get to spend time with my family. This building doesn't matter… What matters is the love and joy we fill it with._

He nodded and turned away from his room, taking a seat on the bed his parents shared while Maria sat on the bench before her dressing table and scrubbed the towel through her hair. Her eyes watchful, locked on him in the mirror.

"Are you alright, Ezio?"

He nodded; "I will be."

"Your stay with—with Altair was okay?"

"Yeah. It helped a lot… Thank you for that."

Maria let out a breath and took up her comb, pulling it gently through her hair. "He was a genleman? He didn't put you in a compromising position?"

He smiled at the thought… Blushed, and smiled wider; "No, mama. No compromising positions."

"Good then, your father won't have to paralyze him." She let her breath out in a whoosh and when she met his eyes in the mirror again, they were amused. "You can tell me anything, you know this. Right, Ezio?"

"Yes."

"Anything at all."

"Yes, mama."

"You… I—" She paused, brows scrunched and after a second turned on her little bench and met him face to face. "I only want you to be happy and comfortable, you know this, yes?"

"Yeah."

"Do—Do you want to—If you're more comfortable staying wi-with him—" Her eyes were filling quickly and her lower lip aquiver, but she took a deep breath, cleared her throat and forced it down; "You don't have to stay. You can go back if you want. If you would be more comfortable."

He swallowed thickly, understanding why she was saying it, also understanding that if she hadn't and he had become so upset he was unable to remain, he might just have forced himself to stay anyway so he didn't look like he didn't want to. So he didn't betray the image of calm he was barely clinging to. He knew deep down that she was giving him an emergency exit. An excuse, so he could tell himself, if he did leave, that it was because she wanted him to be comfortable… not because he was uncomfortable.

It hurt a little, knowing that she knew, and wanted him to be calm more than her own want to have him home again. She would gladly and happily sacrifice her own desires of having him back in her home where she could keep him safe if he was frightened of being there.

He swallowed again, feeling his sinuses and eyes and throat beginning to burn. He was pushing himself a little, not as much as he had in the past, but more than he should. He knew he would probably pay for it later, but the reality of it was, he had a lot of his mother in him and just as readily as she was going to give up her own wants to please him, he was willing to do the same.

"I'm alright, mama, really."

In all honesty, he was pressing his hands together as if trying to crush his bones, just to keep himself from shaking. He felt so silly for being scared when his logical mind was telling him that his family was there, they wouldn't let some stranger come into their home and take him away. It was just stupid to be worried there were men hiding in his room, under his bed, in his closet, the little crack between his headboard and the wall. Ready to slink and slither out like living shadows in the night and steal him away into that place where evil grows and is born. He felt like a little kid afraid of the boogeyman. But instead of just a vague shape lingering in the shadows, Ezio's personal nightmare was a living, breathing thing…

"Are you sure…" Maria tilted her head forward a little for emphasis; "You aren't just saying it because it's what you think I want to hear?"

"No… I'm alright. I want to stay."

And he did want to stay… He just didn't know if he could.

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Dinner was quiet. Giovanni came home from the bank late, apologized and sat down at the table still wearing his suit. He didn't eat much, but sipped slowly at a glass of ice water and nibbled some bread.

Claudia talked candidly with Ezio about going shopping the next morning, that she didn't have any money to spend, but it would still be fun for them to 'hang out' for a while. "We can have lunch and go bother papa at the bank."

Giovanni sighed and rolled his eyes good naturedly; "Mario's training a few new tellers tomorrow, why don't you go bother them?"

Claudia rolled her eyes in return; "Maybe. As long as he's not flirting with them again. It's embarrassing to be around him when he's trying to flirt."

Ezio snorted quietly and glanced up through his hair at the amused look on his father's face.

The evening seemed to blink by. Laughing, smiles, hugs, sitting in the den watching Dancing With the Stars, Claudia snorting out a laugh when someone fell down during training, then sighing and saying wistfully that she wished she had someone to go dancing with.

To which Papa replied; "You and I used to go dancing when you were young—"

"I was six. I stood on your shoes and we shuffled around, that's not dancing."

Giovanni scowled and tilted his chin to his chest, looking down at his wife's face where she'd leaned her head into his shoulder. "Is there anything wrong with going dancing with your father?"

"Not if it's just waltzing… But she meant something a little more intimate."

"You don't Tango with your father." Claudia grunted and slouched a little more on her end of the couch, twitching her feet in time with the beat.

The show ended and Claudia changed the channel, trying to find something mind numbing on TV to bore her into sleep while Mama and Papa said their good nights and went to bed.

The house seemed quiet, empty save the sound of Claudia munching on popcorn and every so often whispering a comment about something that was happening in the movie.

Ezio had sprawled himself across a plush chair and was watching with a kind of mirthlessness as he tried to distract himself from his surroundings. It wasn't working as well as he'd like, any little noise or sound from upstairs, or the central air system and he would turn his head and look toward the darkened stairs, imagining some hidden set of eyes watching him. Once he did catch movement, but realize it was only their father stumbling sleepily to the bathroom.

"You can talk to me too you know."

Ezio looked up warily from the corner of his eye, not entirely believing Claudia had spoken and he hadn't just imagined it. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play coy, I'm an adult, Ezio. I'm not the weepy little girl from before this started. And I'm not going to sell your secrets for candy like I used to when we were kids." She flipped a piece of popcorn at him; "So, if you wanna talk, TALK."

He scratched his neck. He'd forgotten how attentive his sister was. They were close, that was given, but this was something more. He'd always been able to somehow just KNOW what Claudia was feeling. He'd at first just assumed all brothers were like that with their sisters, but that hadn't been the case. He and Claudia had grown up like twins, eleven months difference in their ages was practically no difference. They had been in the same grade, had the same teachers, played the same games. Shared a birthday party often enough. It was something special that he shared with his sister, and he didn't know how to explain it. Only that, for the first time in his life, he was glad it was there. He didn't have to lie to her because she knew something was wrong… She could feel it.

"Ezio, if you're uncomfortable here, I can drive you back, you only have to ask."

"It's not that…" He shook his head and let out a sigh. That was only half the problem… The other half well… The other half was that excitement that even now burned brightly in his chest and mind. The excitement that Altair loved him… had made love with him, and he wanted the world to know how happy he was about it. "I don't know if I can… It's kind of private… but at the same time I'm excited about it and—I'd kinda like to talk about it, strangely enough, but… You-you're my little sister, and thinking about it is weird."

"Then don't talk about it." She shrugged one shoulder and turned back to the TV.

After a few seconds he cleared his throat, eyes on his toes; "Claudia?"

"That's my name."

His eyes rolled; "When did—when did you lose your virginity?"

She blinked, shifted closer and punched him solidly on the shoulder; "I'm a lady, you jerk. Ladies don't talk about such things. As far as you, or anybody else is concerned I'm as pure as the fucking snow!"

He snorted and rubbed the spot smiling at her; "You're not fooling anybody."

"Do I have to hit you again?"

He lifted his hand and leaned away from her a little; "No, you win…" He covertly stole some of her popcorn and shoved it into his mouth.

She settled down again, jaw propped on her hand, staring dully at the screen. She could feel him fidgeting, but she tried to ignore it. If he wanted to talk, he would. You couldn't force a man to talk about anything if you wanted the truth of it. You had to wait, and weed out the lies, and wait some more, and then maybe he'd tell you.

"Were you s— Hypothetically—were you scared when…"

She looked back at him, noticing how his eyes were still locked on his feet. She sighed deeply, worked her tongue around the inside of her mouth a few times, and spoke in a whisper; "A little… I-I thought that afterward I'd be different. I'd be—I'd be grown up, I'd be sexy and desirable and sophisticated… But the whole time I kept thinking 'why am I letting him do this to me? This hurts and it's awful and I don't like it…'" She took a slow breath and wetted her lips; "It was awkward and he kept trying really hard to make me feel good, but… well. It sucked, Ezio. We—we broke up shortly thereafter and I left it all with a valuable lesson learned." She was a little startled to see the sympathy in his expression when he looked up; "H-he came into the bank the other day… didn't even recognize me." She laughed a little, her eyes dancing, "He's gotten so fat."

"Do… Do you regret it?"

She paused, eyes turned inward, and after a moment she met his gaze and shook her head; "Not really… Part of me wishes I'd waited, but another part of me says that it could have been so much worse. Besides… It was a LOT better the second time." She smiled, nose wrinkling in a sassy way only she and their mother could manage.

He chuckled along with her, letting the silence sink back in around them like a warm blanket. One of the movie characters shouted and started waving his gun around, while his accomplice tried to shove it back into his pocket and they ended up fighting like little children.

"Altair and I had sex…"

Claudia's cheeks brightened and her eyes went wide for a second, turning slowly to stare at her brother… Then she was giggling, her voice lowered; "Oh, my God… really? _Really?"_ She leaned close and tittered excitedly; "H-how was it? What was he like? How big is he? Did it feel good? Was he gentle or—OH! Did you do it to him? Oh, God, don't tell me— AH!" She grabbed his shirt and gave him a little shake; _"Cretino,_ tell me!"

He had a finger to his lips, trying to cover her mouth with the other because he didn't want his parents woken by the noise she was making. "Shhh!"

She held a finger to her own mouth and mimicked him, nodding, her voice dropping to below a whisper. "Okay, okay, I'm quiet… Now TELL me!"

He didn't really know where to begin, the majority of the memories was entirely physical, very little actual thought, and every time he opened his mouth to speak, the words in his head sounded so cliché and… and silly. The words failed to be an accurate description of what it had felt like.

"He was v-very gentle. He didn't pressure me or—it… W—well I mean…"

Claudia was still grinning, her cheeks all pink; "It was good?"

"Very."

"Not awkward?"

He glanced off to the side; "T-the second time was a little awkward… I-I couldn't exactly w-walk afterward…"

Claudia had her hands over her mouth, giggling, her expression excited and perhaps a little scandalous.

"I think I might kind of… kind of _like_ making him—" He swallowed, "Making him m-make noises."

Claudia's eyes blazed for a second and she pawed at his arm; "You? You did it to him?"

He thought about it a moment, feeling his face heat up and he wondered where all his excitement to tell the world had gone, all the unashamedness was replaced by this almost suffocating feeling of excited embarrassment, not being able to find the right words, feeling like he wanted to do nothing more than lean close to his sister and giggle because he'd found such unspeakable pleasure while he'd been astride the other man.

"Not yet… He said I could, if I wanted to… But I haven't yet."

She nodded; "What has he done for you?"

"I like the kissing…"

She nodded vigorously in agreement.

"He… He used—his mouth on—"

She was giggling wildly behind her hand; "That's always nice."

He couldn't stop himself from grinning, even as he looked off into the corner to hide his blush.

"Does he have a certain technique? Or was it just basic suction?"

He didn't even reply to that, just looked up at her with wide eyes as if to ask how much she knew about filatio.

Her smile said she knew exactly enough.

"I—It… I don't r-really remember, all I know is that it felt amazing." He glanced down at his hands for a moment; "I don't see why he likes doing it though… I think I understand now why men like it done to them, but—" He took a deep breath and gave his shoulders a shake to rid himself of the feeling; "He loves me Claudia… And he's not just saying it. I know when someone is just saying it… He means it."

"Do you love him, Ezio?"

"Yes."

She smiled at him for a few seconds, then propped her chin on her fists, eyes asparkle; "But you still haven't told me how big he is."

He snorted and shook his head, then with a sigh held up the flat of his hand, his face feeling as if at any moment it may burst into flames.

Claudia looked as if she may start drooling; "You'll have to forgive me if I hold onto this mental image for later."

Ezio choked on a laugh and had to cover his mouth to smother it because at that moment their father called quietly down the stairs, standing there with his eyes squinted and his arms around his stomach;

"What are you two giggling about?"

"N-nothing, papa." Claudia said in a louder whisper. "We're just talking."

Giovanni glanced at his son, curious but at the same time wary. When Ezio and Claudia had both been giggling secretly over something as children, nine times out of ten there was trouble soon to follow. "Dare I ask what you're talking about?"

"Eight inch Manicotti!"

Ezio spluttered, turned brick red, and slid down deeper into his seat as if he wished to shrink into nonexistence.

Claudia smirked at him; "Ezio likes eight inch Manicotti."

Ezio made a noise in his throat and shoved his hands at her, trying to cover her mouth and at the same time knowing that his overreaction just looked suspicious, but unable to stop himself.

Giovanni stared at them for a few minutes, blinking, trying to think through all the cotton in his head, but all he could think of was a plate of pasta, so he just flapped a hand at his children and shuffled back to bed.

Maria was half awake when he returned, curled onto her side in the warm place he'd left; _"What's the matter?"_

He snorted lightly and rolled back into bed; _"Our children are strange."_

_"You're just discovering this now?"_

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	65. Chapter 65

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**Chapter 65; Good Morning, ****Chicago**

Ezio woke at almost five AM to his mother's quiet laugh from the kitchen.

At first he didn't know exactly where, or when he was. Part of his mind told him the past ten years of his life had been a horrible nightmare, while another told him that he knew it had really happened, but it was OK. Things were slowly getting better.

And then his eyes opened, startled a little because with this realization came the knowledge that he'd stayed the night. Not only that, but after he'd taken a few of his anti-anxiety pills, he'd slept it away without even thinking about it.

He was curled up on the couch under a fuzzy blanket that had materialized from somewhere, a cushion crumpled under his head and a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach.

His mother laughed again, softly, and someone descended the stairs.

Ezio lifted himself up, peering over the back of the couch and saw his sister coming down fresh from the shower. Hair in a towel, jeans snug and flattering, feet in little red flats, a periwinkle blue fleece robe around her shoulders.

Claudia smiled at him where he was scowling at her sleepily and jerked a thumb over her shoulder, indicating the bathroom was free, then strode soundlessly into the kitchen.

He stared at the kitchen door for a few moments, let out a quiet scoff, and forced himself to his feet, swinging the blanket over his shoulders like a cape as he went.

Mama was standing at the kitchen island going through some paperwork last minute before they left. Papa was passing a bottle of pancake syrup to Claudia while his other hand, wielding his fork, was moving steadily closer to a plate of sausage links.

Breakfast… Real, honest to God _Breakfast._

There was nothing like having a meal your parents cook for you. Absolutely nothing like it.

"Good morning, Ezio."

He grunted a reply and slid onto a stool beside his sister, puling an empty plate toward himself and dropping a few waffles onto it.

Giovanni chuckled and using his oh-so-famous slight of hand slid a few pieces of sausage onto his son's plate instead of his own. He smiled innocently up at Maria when she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Ezio, I took your bags up to mine and your mother's room for you." Giovanni said, stirring some cream into his coffee. "Do your things need to be washed?"

Ezio thought quietly, going over a list of the clothes he'd taken on vacation with him and what he'd washed and reworn at Altair's. "Some of it."

Giovanni nodded; "If you'll sort it out before we leave I can leave a note for your brother to wash it for you." At the questioning look Ezio sent him he smiled and explained; "Petruccio's coming in today to do some laundry and probably eat everything in the fridge…"

Maria smacked the back of his head and mumbled something about the fact that of all the college students in Chicago Petruccio had to be the one NOT to abuse the credit card his parents had given him. "He won't even use it to buy food… 'For Emergencies' you said…" She snorted; "You know how literal he is…"

Giovanni rolled his eyes and rubbed the back of his skull; "I'll explain that in the note as well, _Cara Mia_… Should I also explain that since he left his mother has become a bit abusive?"

She gave him a look then, so blank and irritated, Ezio could do nothing but bend over his plate and try not to laugh.

Giovanni smiled innocently again in a way that said he was only teasing and tilted his fork toward the sausage again—

Maria took the plate right from under the prongs of it and headed toward the garbage can.

Ezio, twisted on his stool and caught the plate, lifting it from her hands as he completed his circle and sat it back on the table.

Before she could snatch it up again, Giovanni speared a link and darted from the kitchen holding it aloft on his fork like a marathon runner's baton.

Yes, Ezio decided, he'd missed this. Staying with Altair was wonderful, but watching the playful, loving little arguments his parents got into was just as nice.

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Altair was sitting in the DMV, hiding in his hood and reading and waiting for his number to be called when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He didn't recognize the number the Text message had been sent from, but then again, this wasn't just his personal phone, it was his business phone as well, so he read it, snorting in amusement at the content.

His phone started ringing not long after that, and he was reluctant to answer until he saw who was calling; "Yeeeeessss?"

"Guess what I completely forgot to do." Ezio smirked into the phone, he could hear it.

"What?"

"I forgot to give you your birthday present."

Altair chuckled; "I'm so deeply offended I'll never recover."

"Smartass… How was your night?"

"Good, ordered some socks and stuff online, took a bath, washed the sheets."

Ezio didn't know how that sentence was sexy, but it was. Maybe it was because he knew what each of those innocent sounding things actually meant.

"I hope you didn't get carried away with the socks."

"Nope, just a few pairs… Got up early and had some cereal, you've spoiled me to breakfast."

"Cereal isn't breakfast. I had waffles, eggs and sausage. GOOD sausage too, not that shitty stuff you get from the store."

"Ew."

"EW! That's properly made sausage, thank you—"

"Pork… ew."

Ezio snorted; "That's it, Saturday I'm coming over there and I'm making dinner. No going out and shit, I'm making real honest to God FOOD for you and you're going to eat it, understand?"

"But the pork—"

"I'll use turkey sausage. It doesn't taste the same, but it'll have to do."

"Turkey sausage?"

"If Malik can eat hotdogs, you can eat turkey sausage."

"Malik eats kosher hotdogs. I don't think sausage, even if it is turkey sausage, is kosher."

"Altair?"

"What?"

"Shut up."

The PI laughed quietly; "So, what are you gonna do today?"

Ezio sighed; "Well, I just got out of the shower and—"

"What're you wearing?"

Ezio practically choked on his tongue; "I'm in my parents' bedroom, Altair. No."

Altair leaned back in his seat and set his book spine up over his crotch; "Why not? Just go back to the bathroom… Ten minutes."

"No." His voice sounded a little irritated now so Altair stopped.

"Alright… So what _are_ you going to do today?"

Ezio sighed. "Claudia and I are going shoe shopping." Then with his voice lowered deviously; "What size underwear do you wear?"

"Normal sized, why?"

"No reason."

"No, there's a reason… What's up?"

"What do you think?"

Altair wasn't sure what to think about the grin he heard in the younger man's voice. "Tease."

Ezio laughed and made a soft noise of discomfort as he zipped his jeans; "I have to go now. Have fun getting your picture taken and all that shit. I'll call you after lunch."

"Hmmm," Altair grunted noncommittally; "Have fun shopping— And your sister texted me a little bit ago."

"Oh? About what?"

"It was weird… I don't think she meant to send it to me—How did she get my number anyway?"

"Claudia knows everything… What did it say?"

It said; _"Ezio likes your Manicotti, do you like his Penne?"_

There was a deathly silence on the other end of the phone for all of ten seconds, then Ezio spoke quietly, calmly; "I have to go kill my sister now."

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	66. Chapter 66

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**Chapter 66; Pumped up Kicks**

Claudia liked listening to music when she drove.

Shopping was nice, flirting with boys was nice, but there was something just inequivically freeing about driving with the sunroof open listening to music and having nothing to do.

They'd gotten sodas, grape and orange Nehi's like they'd had every so often as kids, and there was a bag of Dill Pickle chips between them as they made their way toward the bank. At a stop light about halfway there, windows down, sunroof open, music loud, Ezio had looked out his window and saw Desmond and Shaun walking on the other side of the street. Part of him wanted to stick his head out the window and yell to get their attention, but they seemed engrossed in something, both of them speaking and making hand gestures. Probably arguing from how red in the face Shaun was. So Ezio remained quiet.

"Where do you want to go for lunch, Ezio?"

He shrugged and tapped his feet in time with the music. "I'm not that hungry right now… Maybe just a hotdog or some nachos or something."

Claudia snorted; "I thought having a gay brother would mean brunch and shopping, and strawberry daiquiris and pillow fights, sleepovers, and Sushi for lunch, not hot dogs and nachos and steak burritos with beer… If I'd wanted that stuff I'd have just asked Federico to come out with me."

"Federico likes daiquiris and he's straight…ish." Ezio looked over at her with his eyebrow cocked up; "And just because I'm gay doesn't mean I'm efiminate. Now, if you really want that I can pretend." He took a swig of his soda like it was a beer and extended his free hand, scrutinizing his fingernails in the sunlight. "We can go get manicures and get our hair done and shit if you want."

"You're being sarcastic. I can smell sarcasm and it smells like you." She frowned severely.

"Hey, I'm trying. This is all still very new to me."

"Well, what kinds of stuff do you like to do?"

"In general, or with Altair?"

"Both."

"I'm getting pretty good at Jujitsu, just a few more lessons before Shaun said I'll be too advanced to keep showing up with Malik's kids."

Claudia's lips turned down, but her eyebrows went up, her head nodding agreeingly.

"I also like cooking. That's pretty fun… messy, but fun." He crunched a few chips absently and watched the traffic while he thought. "Shoes are cool… I liked those blue ones you tried on earlier." A sigh; "Wish they had them a few sizes bigger."

Claudia cooed and while the car was stopped reached over and wrapped her arms around his neck, squeezing the breath out of him. "I'm so HAPPY! You have good taste!"

He made a farting noise between his lips with what little breath he had left, and tried to shove her off; "Not for me! Fuck, my leg still gets sore walking around in normal shoes."

She rolled her eyes; "Then for wh—" Her expression went blank for a second and she turned slowly and stared at Ezio in something akin to awe. "I think you just became my favorite person alive… If you can get him to wear stilettos you absolutely HAVE TO take a picture and show me. There is something just ungodly sexy about a man who is confident enough to wear women's clothes and not feel threatened."

Ezio choked on a laugh; "Too bad, he's mine, and I'm not too keen on sharing with my sister of all people."

"But you'd share?"

He shook his head. "I'm not even used to what we have yet. I'm not going to go changing it any time soon."

She shrugged, content with that answer, or at least pretending to be and took a drink of her own soda; "So, what have you two done, and what do you want to do?"

He was red in the face instantly, and he cursed in his mind because for some reason, Claudia was able to make him blush and stutter in zero point two seconds. "I rode him like a cowboy and I came so hard I couldn't walk, we've showered together a few times and I helped him dye his hair."

She cooed again and gazed at him so proudly it almost made him sick.

"He looks better with dark hair anyway… Before the curtains didn't match the carpet."

She bowed her head, shoulders shaking in silent laughter.

"It was weird, like peanut butter and chocolate."

Her shoulders shook even harder.

"Oh, shut up…"

She couldn't speak for almost five minutes. "Your boyfriend has an unnatural obsession with socks."

He almost choked again. "H-he just likes socks."

"You should have Mama teach you to knit so you can make him a pair for Christmas. It would be so cuuuuuuuuuuuute!"

"He doesn't celebrate Christmas, Claudia. Hell, I haven't in years and I'm not too worried about starting again—"

Claudia looked personally offended; "Mama's already planning it. She and Papa reserved this big cabin in Colorado weeks ago." She eased her car a little farther down the street. "This is the first time since you were taken that we're going to have a real Christmas. We didn't even put up a tree the past three years."

"Claudia, it's not even Halloween yet, Christmas can wait." He finished off his soda and tipped the bottle up over his mouth to catch the last few drops; "I haven't been trick-or-treating in a DECADE. And I don't give a shit how old I am, I'm goin' trick-or-treating."

She giggled; "That's too bad… A few bars down town throw fantastic Halloween parties."

"Don't care."

"They have costume contests—"

"—Trick-or-treat—"

"—Free drinks to—"

"—Smell my feet—"

"—All the pretty women—"

"—Give me something good to eat—"

"—All the pretty _men _in skimpy costumes—"

"—I don't care. The only man I care about has only been in two bars in his life."

"I'll be your designanted driver!"

When he just smirked at her Claudia rolled her eyes; "Fine, I'll buy you drinks too—"

"Make Federico take you."

"He and Katie are taking Baby Gio to the Letroys for Halloween… They're getting matching costumes." She shuddered; "It's sickeningly adorable… So, that leaves you. My FAVORITE brother EVER—"

"I'm not going."

"But, think about your poor, sweet little sister whose only wish is—"

"If you want to go so badly, ask Desmond to take you."

She blinked.

"He's twenty-one too you know. And he's single."

"I think I just threw up in my mouth a little."

Ezio cackled; "What? What's wrong with Desmond?"

"He's a child, Ezio. He's a little boy with a PI's license who thinks he's Humphrey Bogart!"

"He's a good PI, Claudia. Yeah, he can get distracted, but he's good at what he does, or Altair would have kicked his ass—And yes, Altair would have kicked his ass."

"I don't doubt it, but that doesn't change the fact he's got the emotional range of a seven-year-old."

Ezio shook his head and sat up straighter in his seat because they were nearing the bank, and in this traffic, Claudia had only—if they were lucky—two tries at parallel parking in front of the building.

She was already grumbling bitterly under her breath, shoulders hunching, eyes narrowing and darting between her mirrors and the road. "Okay, bitch, I swear to God if you don't give me enough room I'm backing this Lexus onto your hood!"

And sure enough, the moment Claudia turned on her signal light and tapped her brakes as warning that she would be reversing into the spot—The little Ultima behind them got so close to Claudia's bumper Ezio was astonished they didn't collide.

Claudia turned so red the whites of her eyes stood out in high contrast; She rolled down her window and stuck her head out, waving at the person behind them and shouting to be heard; "I'm trying to park! STAY BACK!" She advanced to the second open spot—

And the Ultima followed.

Claudia snarled, her breath coming out in something akin to a scream between clenched teeth. She shouted out the window again and made hand gestures at the driver who just wrinkled his nose and nodded sarcastically.

She turned on her signal light, tapped the brakes, pulled up far enough—

"OH! THAT BITCH!" She howled and shoved hard at Ezio's shoulder; "Go stand in front of his car and keep that _bastardo_ still! I refuse to park at the side of the building! There have been five cars broken into this year, and I will NOT have my \windows smashed for quarters!"

Ezio was at first frightened, he'd never seen Claudia so angry so quickly. And as soon as he'd reached to unclick his safety belt the Ultima put on his signal—And slipped right into the spot Claudia had been trying to maneuver into.

Claudia was not at all pleased. She slapped the car into gear and angrily stomped the gas, rocketing forward, illegally around the corner, the wrong way on a one-way street, down an impossibly narrow alleyway behind the bank, past two tellers having their smoke break, tires screeching, down another alleyway, THUMPBUMPBANG over the curb and into the street again, car horns honking, and her heel insistant and harsh on the brake, signal light on— "BACK UP!" Screeched out the window at a taxi behind her—Slapped into reverse and into the first parking spot like a glove…

At that moment Ezio felt as if, perhaps, he'd been transplanted into one of those heist movies he and Claudia had been watching because he didn't know a normal person could drive like that. His nails were poking holes in the upholstery, and he turned his head slowly, carefully on his tense neck and stared at his sister; "You… you have to teach me to drive, you know that? That was awesome."

She snorted; "Get in line."

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The inside of their father and uncle's private bank hadn't really changed much since Ezio had last been inside it almost ten years ago.

The counters and teller windows had been replaced, no longer stainless steel and glass, now something more classical, dark wood and silver marble. There was a sign up on a brass easle; _'Please excuse the mess, we're redecorating'_. The smell of paint and wood varnish was strong, but filtered because of the many fans in the open windows—And Ezio recognized a man perched on a ladder to the left of the main lobby wearing a white t-shirt and paint stained jeans, hair stuffed haphazardly under a red beret.

He was shocked at first, Leo had seemed utterly panic stricken the last time they'd spoken, crying that it had been his fault Park had stepped down as his guard. He felt a little jealous, but at the same time not surprised Leo hadn't called him back after their phone conversation had ended, the blonde was easily forgetful when he was doing something he enjoyed.

But this—Leo was sitting on top of the ladder with headphones around his neck, singing quietly along with the words in French; _'All the other kids, with the pumped up kicks. You better run, better run, outrun my gun. All the other kids with the pumped up kicks, better run better run, faster than my bullet—'_

There was gauze on the blonde's right forearm, wrapping clear around it in a thick white band and instantly Ezio felt his stomach bubbling. Felt fear beginning to run rampant in his mind because the last time Leo had been hurt, it had been his own doing, and the placement of that gauze was just— It implied so much.

The painting on the wall though, quite contradictorily, didn't match what Ezio was used to seeing when Leo was in a self-destructive mood. It was a subtle difference, always so very subtle his work… But it was one Ezio had learned to see in the years they'd known one another. Whatever the trouble had been that had caused Leo to hurt himself again, was cleared away, and he was happy once more… happier than Ezio had ever seen him.

As if he could sense his friend's gaze, Leo turned from his work, searching the crowd curiously—And spotted Ezio standing near the door staring at him. He waved, smiling brightly and tapped his wrist with his paintbrush. "I'm finished here at eleven-thirty for lunch, wait for me?"

Ezio nodded, and when Claudia tugged his sleeve, followed her toward the elevator.

Giovanni was sitting behind his desk typing quickly with his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. There was a bottle of antacids near his hand, the cap unscrewed and a few chalky tablets spilled on the paperwork he had been reading earlier. A cup of coffee sat cold and forgotten next to a fern like plant on the windowsill, and aside from a copy of his accounting degree on the wall, and a photo of himself and Mario, both much younger, standing beside a young Maria holding baby Federico on her hip at the bank's opening day ceremony, there were no other bank related photos on the walls. The rest were family photos, most of which professionally done, just for show at work, and on his desk three pictures, the first of which Ezio had taken himself during their vacation in Italy, his family all smushed together in Rome making funny faces. Petruccio with a finger hooked in the corner of his mouth, tongue lolling, Federico's eyes crossed and a finger in his nose, Claudia making a puffer fish face, Ezio pulling his lower left eyelid down and rolling his eyes into his head, teeth bared, Giovanni with his eyes closed, smiling contentedly while Maria pressed a sweet little kiss to his jaw. The second of Katie, Federico and Baby Giovanni, and the third, Ezio recognized as one of his parents wedding photos. Plain, black and white with a little bit of haze to it that made everything glow.

He never would have thought twice about those pictures if none of this had happened. He would have just seen pictures like he had as a child. They wouldn't have meant anything. But now, Ezio did understand, and he knew exactly what they meant, and it filled him with a sense of pride.

"Hey, Papa! Are you ready for lunch?" Claudia said drumming her fingers on the door jamb.

He looked up from his work at them, smiled, glanced back at his computer and popped a few more antacids before he closed the program and stood; "You're a little late."

"Some jackass kept sniffing my back bumper while I was trying to park out front."

Giovanni nodded, "That's why I usually just park in the back."

She rolled her eyes; "Yeah, but I don't want my windows smashed."

"That's why I have a car alarm." He chuckled and pulled on his jacket; "Let me get Mario and we can go."

"Dad… C-can Leo come too?" Ezio knew his father wouldn't mind, but it was still polite to ask.

"If he wants to… He said this morning someone was picking him u—Oh, did he mean you?"

Ezio blinked; "I don't know, I havn't talked to him in days. Not since he called me after Park quit—"

And Giovanni's eyebrows drew down curiously; "Well, that explains a lot… Yes, go on, I'll meet you two down stairs."

Ezio felt his confusion like a fat water balloon in his head, but at the moment he didn't have enough sense to ask his father what he was talking about, he just followed Claudia down stairs again in time to see Leo climbing down his ladder and putting away his paints and brushes in plastic tubs to be used later.

He smiled, watching the blonde 'cleaning up', carefully folding his ladder and laying it against the wall, rubbing his stained hands together and stepping back to admire his work. It was obviously a slow progress, still mostly just blocked in with a few details that would later dictate where shadows went.

Leo's head turned, a bright smile curling his lips, and he started forward, scrubbing his palms on the legs of his jeans.

Ezio rolled his eyes and touched Claudia's arm in a signal to wait for him and...

And Leo wasn't looking at him. He'd walked right up to a man in a brown hooded sweatshirt and wrapped his arms loosely around this-this stranger's shoulders.

Shock tasted sour in the back of Ezio's throat, but he stood there watching anyway, unsure what exactly was happening, wondering if maybe this weren't a dream because he'd never-ever seen Leo look at ANYONE like that. Maybe at his cat and dog, but never a human being. Leo was startlingly distant from people, even though he feigned a hug or a pat on the back every so often. Physical contact was scary. On some level it was still frightening to Ezio, but...

And the man under the hood leaned forward and brushed his lips against the blonde's cheek.

Leo's eyes slid closed and he smiled happily.

_Oh... OH!_

The realization was like a slap to the face.

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	67. Chapter 67

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_((Note; Thanks to everyone who's reviewed! Especially those of you who help me find things I've made mistakes on so I can fix them! *hugs you* One such thing I messed up on was the fact I mentioned in earlier chapters that Altair felt all of his twenty-eight years, when in all actuality, he's not twenty-eight at the time he was twenty-nine (Though now he's thirty because he's had a birthday :P ). This was my mistake in the math *begs forgiveness*. So, Hubby Dearest and I have gone back and calculated everyone's ages and birthdays to hopefully make everything easier to understand.))_

**_Petruccio;_**_ 17, January 27th… **Eli;** 17; May 21st…**Claudia;** 20, March 14th… **Ezio;** 21, April 13th… **Desmond;** 21, July 20th… **Shaun; **24, February 7th… **Federico; **24, December 19th… **Katie;** 25, October 24th… **Altair; **30, August 13th… **Giovanni;** 46, December 1st… **Maria;** 45, November 3rd… **Malik;** 32, November 15… **Hadiya;** 31, September 12… _

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**Chapter 67; All in Your Head**

Leo felt eyes on him and turned toward them, still smiling, his grin widening when he realized Ezio looked as if he'd been struck across the face with a wet fish. The younger man's eyes were wide, his mouth dropped open and his cheeks were slightly pink and growing more so by the second.

"What would you like for lunch? We can go anywhere you want."

Leo chuckled and ducked his ear to his shoulder because that deep voice tickled and it was almost unbearable without giggling. Especially now.

"How about Chinese? I think I enjoyed it quite a lot last time."

Those warm lips smiled against his cheek. "Anything you want."

Ezio's eyes widened further when the man in the brown hood turned and his suspicions were confirmed. He gave his head a shake to clear the shock from his features and let a crooked, impish grin curl his lips. "Is this what I think it is?"

Leo kept smiling as they approached, pausing for a moment to talk while Ezio and Claudia waited on their father and uncle.

"Seperation of business and pleasure, that's all it is." Leo jabbed Park in the ribs with his thumb.

Ezio nodded innocently; "So he didn't quit because of what happened?"

Leo's face became serious; "Oh, but he did. That's exactly why he quit."

Park nodded, deciding it was best to let the blonde talk, because sometimes it was just plain impossible to get a word in edgewise.

Ezio looked confused. "But—"

Leo was opening his mouth to speak when Giovanni approached, followed at a distance by Mario and a group of young men in business suits— and Claudia gripped both the blonde's and her brother's wrists as if she were about to faint.

Ezio was puzzled… until he saw where his sister's gaze had fallen.

Three of the four young men following their uncle had varying degrees of fear and determination plastered on their faces. Two had out Steno books and were taking quick notes on what the larger man was saying, their eyes intent and serious as Mario made sweeping hand gestures and spoke in his deep, but somehow grandiose voice about the architecture of the main lobby and the placement of security cameras. But one of the men, the forth— a tall thin young man with curling dark hair cropped modishly so it lay across his forehead, and bright red converse tennis shoes on that somehow matched and even more inexplicably complemented his black suit and thin black arrow tie— was staring at Claudia… Worse than that the corner of his lips was curled up just a fraction.

Ezio felt his sister's nails biting into his wrist, and if the wince that pulled at Leo's features was any indication, he was feeling it as well.

"Someone pinch me…" She swallowed with some difficulty.

_"Matteo!" _

Mario Auditore could be very scary when he wanted to be. And if there was one thing he enjoyed more than hula girls, it was making new interns and tellers jump and flinch and think he was a badass… Not that he wasn't a badass, he just liked implying that he wasn't, only to spring it on you suddenly… just so he could enjoy the shock and awe in your expression.

The young man stiffened and turned quickly back to his new boss, eyes wide, face pale; _"Yes, sir."_

_"Pay less attention to my niece and more attention to what I'm saying."_

_"Yes, sorry, sir… Sorry."_ He seemed to slouch a little in embarrassment, and as soon as Mario had begun talking again, his eyes stole back over to Claudia and his grin returned. As the group moved on toward the back where Mario would wrap up his tour and they would break for lunch, Matteo's eyes tore slowly away and he stuffed his hands into his pockets

Claudia made a whimpering, whining noise and released Ezio's and Leo's wrists, her hands pushing her hair away from her face as if the wind had blown it there. "He's Italian… Ah!" She turned and grabbed her father by the lapels of his suit eyes wide and dreamy; "Who is he! Where is he from—And please-PLEASE tell me we are not related!"

Giovanni looked for a moment afraid of his daughter, but amusement colored his face again and his eyes crinkled in a way that was distinctly devious; "Oh, him?" He flapped a hand dismissively. "You've met him before, do you not remember?"

Claudia's eyes widened in horror; "W-what?"

"Lorenzo introduced you during our vacation?"

A peculiar pallor came over Claudia's face and her lips rolled back from her teeth in something akin to a wince.

"Oh, that's right…" Giovanni cupped his jaw and widened his eyes in mock surprise. "You were too busy flirting with that other driver… The one that ran your uncle off the road! Ah, yes, I remember now… You smiled at him and didn't even give him your name."

"Papa, don't joke about such things! PLEASE tell me you're joking!" She looked positively humiliated.

Giovanni kept a straight face for all of ten seconds, then he chuckled; "He's the son of one of Lorenzo's Chefs. As punishment for your uncle's... mishap on the track, Matteo is his new assistant. He doesn't speak much English, and you know Mario and I can't exactly refuse something Lorenzo asks us to do," He rubbed nervously at his neck, "We've wrecked three of his cars now and—"

Claudia had already released him and turned around, staring almost ravenously at Matteo's back as he left. She mumbled something Giovanni wished dearly he hadn't heard, and Ezio cackled wildly at;

"He wants a job? I'll give him one… Mmmmm_hmmm."_

Leo leaned to the side and whispered into Ezio's ear; "Park and I are going for Chinese… Would you like to join us? I have so much to tell you."

Ezio took a deep breath and spoke toward his father, hoping to end the mumbling about gray hairs; "Leo and Park are going for Chinese? Where are we going?"

Giovanni sighed and the hands over his stomach tightened; "Chinese sounds fine. Mario?" He turned and called over his shoulder where the older man was flirting shamelessly with one of the tellers. A young thing with short cropped dark hair highlighted with burgundy. "MARIO!"

"Coming, coming... And maybe again in a few hours, yes?" He made to grip the young woman's hand gently but Giovanni had stomped over, grabbed him by the back of his jacket and yanked him toward the door.

"Some other time then, Beautiful-"

"Mario, I-"

"Not so hard, you mean thing!"

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That first night without Ezio in his bed had been a little weird, Altair decided. He'd woken up a few times simply because he'd rolled over and there was no body there to wrap his arm around, or throw his leg over. There was no one there to steal his blankets and he'd become insufferably hot.

He'd had to sit up and feel around on the mattress for a little bit before he remembered that Ezio was safely at home and hadn't been stolen away in the middle of the night.

He didn't sleep very well…

It was even worse when at about three that morning he'd been awoken by a silent little figure with a tiny flashlight standing beside his bed.

Altair had almost lashed out in fright when he'd pried his eyes open and seen Gadil standing there. He'd groaned and rubbed his face in the pillow then asked in a whisper what was wrong.

Gadil had been very quiet, wet tracks on his cheeks and spoke in a whisper; "I had an accident…"

Altair raised an eyebrow in confusion, blinked stupidly at the boy, and realization oozed over his mind like a raw egg. It was a little surprising actually, Gadil had never wet his bed before, but Altair didn't think anything of it. Why would he? Kids had accidents. No big deal.

"Why didn't you tell your dad?"

And Gadil had bowed his head, seeming to shrink in on himself; "'don't want him to know… he'll get mad at me."

Altair knew he wouldn't, Malik may be irritated at being woken up so early in the morning, but he wouldn't have been angry. It wasn't Gadil's fault.

But Altair also knew Gadil was a lot like his father and it was the pride of the situation that made going to his father impossible. Zafir didn't even have accidents…

So, Altair had rolled out of bed wearing only his boxerbriefs, socks and a sweat shirt and changed Gadil's sheets, cleaned and turned the mattress and made sure the boy was safely back in bed, then because he knew he wasn't going to get back to sleep himself, went back to his room, pulled on some sweats and old tennis shoes and headed toward the park for an early morning run.

He hadn't been out running in a long time. It was fun, just to be able to maneuver through unfamiliar terrain without having to worry about falling five stories to his death.

He got some coffee at about six, panting and tingling all over from the workout, and made his way back to his apartment.

Hadiya was awake, looking a little green about the gills as she searched for something to nibble on to settle her stomach. She seemed surprised to see Altair awake so early, no—not only awake, but awake and looking like he'd been that way for hours. She blinked at him then smiled kindly, sweetly in a way that said she understood he missed Ezio and that she wanted to coo and pinch his cheeks because she thought it was absolutely adorable.

Altair tried to stay as far from her as possible, because she pinched very, very hard…

He got quite a bit of work done before he headed out to the DMV, and he was quite pleased with himself. Even more so when he got out earlier than he'd expected, and had a nice new mental image of Ezio to entertain himself with when he got home.

He contemplated going straight home and getting as much work done as possible then calling Desmond to see how he was doing, and if he was still so angry as he had been days before. It was unnatural that the younger man had been completely absent for so long. He'd never been one to hold a grudge. Then again, Altair rationalized, the guy he thought of as his older brother had never been in a serious relationship with one of his friends before, now had he…

Altair pushed it from his mind and decided to have lunch first. He always thought more clearly on a full stomach anyway… He settled on a cheap chicken sandwich from some burger joint or another, he hadn't realy been paying attention, and a coke.

So, grinning because Ezio's phone call had lightened his mood considerably, he slouched around for a while with his hood off, just looking at the place he so often took for granted. He found a bit of curb outside the burger joint and planted himself there to eat and just people watch and enjoy the sunshine.

Chicago was usually a rough place, gangs, kidnappings, shootings, beatings… You name it Chicago had it. But the city could also be a very beautiful place. The architecture, the history, the landscape, the lakefront property…

He was content to just sit there and BE for an hour or two, but his phone decided to ring instead. He squinted at the display, grinned and answered it; "Hey."

Ezio practically sang at him; "Guess wha-aaat I saaaaaw!"

Altair snorted lightly and took a drink of his soda; "What did you saw?"

"Leo and Park…"

"Oh?"

"Yep, and they were holding hands… It was so cute I almost puked."

Altair couldn't help but chuckle at the tone in Ezio's voice. "I told you so."

"Anyway, Claudia, Papa and Zio Mario are going for lunch, I just wanted to call and share the news."

Altair grunted; "What does that mean? 'Zio'?"

"Basically it means 'Uncle'."

Altair nodded, even though the younger man couldn't see it.

"So," Ezio began; "What're you doing now?"

"Eatin'."

"What."

"Cock."

Ezio made a strange strangled noise.

"You know, like a chicken?"

"There is something very, very wrong with you."

"Of course."

"My sister says 'hi' by the way… And I think I might have, maybe stolen one of your jackets."

Altair chuckled around his food; "I noticed…" He swallowed; "Hi to your sister."

"You're not mad that I took it are you? I can't really stop myself sometimes… Marjory says it's a control issue."

"I'm not mad—It _was_ a clean one, right? Cause I tend to wear the damned things for weeks without washing them."

"Ew…" Ezio made a sniffing noise; "Mmmm, smells like you… Nope, not clean, but not grungy. Happy middle ground."

Claudia cursed bitterly at the traffic in the background and Ezio let out a sigh; "What're you gonna do the rest of the day?"

Altair finished his sandwich and balled up the wrapper. He propped his elbows on his knees and squinted up at the sun as it peeked through the clouds; "I'll probably loaf around for a while… Maybe go see if Walker needs any help chasing perps. Then go home and hope I can figure out how to put together this new book shelf I ordered a while back and forgot I'd ordered. Showed up this morning. Nice surprise anyway."

"Sounds boring."

"Mostly. I have a bad habit of taking things apart and not being able to put them back together." He grinned; "Maybe I'll go home and bug Malik for a while. I haven't buged him in weeks."

"You bug him every day."

"Not incessantly … Sometimes there's nothin' better than impudently tempting the wrath of god by handcuffing Malik to something then giving him a wedgie."

"He'll kill you. He'll choke you, or just plainly beat you to death with a paperback."

"He might come after me with one of his swords too. He and Hadiya have quite a collection of swords. It's worth it though. "

"You're insane."

"Yeah."

"You've got a nice set of swords too you know."

"I have_ one_ sword, thank you. And an extensive collection of knives."

"Knife fettish?"

"In the worst way."

"Maybe we'll have to take advantage of that someday."

"If you're ever up to it, I will gladly let you tie me up and have your wicked, wicked way with m—" Altair went very quiet for a moment and the tension on his end of the line was absolute.

Ezio's brow wrinkled in confusion.

Altair practically snorted with laughter; "I just got such a sour look from like a ninety-year-old woman in a bright red velour track suit."

Ezio sighed, his lips curling up in mild amusement; "You're hopeless."

"Hey, Ezio?"

"Yeah?"

"'Wanna get matching track suits?"

"I'm hanging up now, you psychopath."

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Evening crept up on Ezio out of nowhere. One moment he'd been laughing with his sister after lunch, going to see a movie. Whispering into her ear that the lead actor was pretty cute… And Claudia really wanted to bang that guy at the bank, didn't she.

Claudia choked on her soda and threw popcorn at him.

And then they were exiting the theater and it was dark… Where had the time gone?

Mama had ordered pizzas and they ate together, Federico calling while on his lunch break at work, and grumbling that all he had was cold soup.

And then Mama and Papa were saying goodnight and going up to bed and Claudia had turned the TV down and was trying to find something interesting.

Ezio sat there on the couch for a while, feeling all over again like something was watching him from the stairs, glancing over his shoulders and scratching the back of his neck.

"Do you want to go up there?" Claudia said quietly.

He looked at her.

"I'll go with you if you want… I—I haven't been in there since it happened either." She looked at the ground, a little ashamed of herself. "We can go together."

He shook his head and wrapped his arms tightly around himself because it felt like his heart was about to pound right from his chest.

"You can sleep in my room if you want."

"No, thank you…" He cleared his throat. "We'll… we'll go up there tomorrow when it's daylight."

She nodded and settled on reruns of Dead Like Me. She stood, stretched and disappeared into the kitchen for a few minutes, returning with one of the bottles of beer their father kept in the fridge but rarely ever drank. He'd confessed he didn't particularly like the taste, but it was a sturdy, manly drink to have around when Mario came over. Even if they did, nine times out of ten, end up sharing a bottle of Pinot or Chianti.

Claudia, though, rather liked beer truthfully. Of course, mostly it was because nobody would miss it from the fridge.

Ezio, who had been contemplating fishing out his antianxiety medication from his bag, took the bottle instead and leaned his head on her shoulder.

"Is it weird that I can't make myself go up there, Claudia?"

"No. I can't either, simply because it upsets you so much."

He was quiet, trying to pretend he was interested in what was going on on TV.

"Ezio?"

He tilted his chin upward to look at her.

"Ezio, did you ever try to get home to us?" Her expression was subtely pained. "You were gone for so long… Did you ever try to call, or—or get away from them?"

His brows pulled together and he swallowed thickly. Marjory had asked him the same question a few times, and he'd always tried to avoid the subject. Not because he was ashamed of not trying… But because he had tried, he'd tried and failed and it had become too painful to remember.

He swallowed again and took the TV remote from her, holding it for a second before he clicked it off.

The entire room was bathed in darkness. Just a faint glow of street lights through the front curtains, and the dim illumination from a nightlight Mama insisted on keeping plugged in in the bathroom, so nobody went groping for it in the darkness and fell down the stairs.

Ezio had mixed feelings about the dark. On one side, he hated it. You never knew who, or what could be lurking in the dark… But then again, the darkness could hide you as well. It could mask your expressions and make forced sounds seem genuine.

"I tried about every day for the first year… They would hit me, or worse. One man tried to drown me in his bathtub when I started screaming out the window for help… He told the police that I was just his angry son. Another man started—started spouting facts about you guys… That he would get you one by one and do the same thing to you if I didn't do what I was told. T-that he'd kill you right in front of me…" He took a deep breath and let it out; "I didn't try for a long time after that… And when I did try again I—I tried to call home, but I would have had to pay for it and I—" He chuckled hopelessly, "—I didn't have any money. I even wanted to go to the American Consulate a few times, but I kept remembering what papa said when we went to Italy the first time… That if you don't have your passport and ID you'll go to prison. And I didn't have my ID or my passport—I know that now they wouldn't have put me in prison, but at the time I didn't know… And after that I just felt so ashamed because no matter what I did they always caught me. And that—that man made—" He cleared his throat, took a few breaths and scrubbed his face; "That man made me come the first time and I started to believe them. I believed that I was ruined, that I was twisted and ugly and disgusting because I'd 'liked it'… It was so psychological… These men made me so afraid of everything and everyone that after I turned fourteen I was too afraid to try again… It hurt less if I just—just didn't fight it."

"That doesn't sound like you, Ezio—"

"I know…" He wiped his eyes and gave an almost dead sounding chuckle; "They broke me a little, Claudia. They took away everything I was and looking back on it, it makes me sick, so please—Please, don't tell anyone. Especially Mom. Please, promise me you won't tell Mom."

Claudia found his hand in the darkness and gripped it as if she intended never to let go. "I won't tell a soul."

And she meant it.

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_Sorry for the lack of updates. Life is hectic. Nothing bad happening, just a lot of mundane crap getting in the way of my writing. On a lighter note though, Hubby Dearest and I adopted a kitten. We haven't named him yet, but he is frickin' adorable. Any suggestions?_

_Next few chapters are darker... I'll put them up as soon as they are finished.  
_

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	68. Chapter 68

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_Okay, guys. Kitten named himself. He is now, Perv Cat. Why, you ask? I'm not going into detail, but Hubby Dearest and I were trying to have some 'private time' and little kitten decided to crawl under the bedroom door… So, there we were, and I look up, and Kitten is perched on the corner of the bed with his little head cocked to the side— WATCHING._

_So, he is now Perv Cat. _

_We will be calling him P.C. for short… I'm tempted to go and get one of his brothers from the lady who gave him to us and name him Mac. _

_God I'm such a loser. *headdesk*_

…

_OH, Thank you for telling me the links on my profile were missing! Apparently OZ was a dumbass and forgot to hit 'SAVE' when she changed the content of her profile… That has now been fixed. _

_And I've also put up the updated image containing the actors/actresses I had in mind while writing this. _

_Weird question… Would anybody be interested in the entire Fast Cars and Airplanes in Heaven Soundtrack? Hubby Dearest and I compiled one. It's about 100 songs and takes up quite a few CDs. But, if you're interested, send me a PM and maybe we can work something out._

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**Chapter 68; Facing Your Fears**

It seemed like such a daunting task, now that it was morning and there he was, the house empty save himself and Claudia, standing there in front of the opened door, peering in at such an innocent seeming space.

"They did a good job fixing it," Claudia said, fingers still tight on his arm.

He knew she was trying to sound comforting, trying to lift his spirits, but it wasn't working. Part of him wanted to shrug her away and go hide in the bathroom. Why had he thought this was a good idea? Why was he letting his bedroom of all things, frighten him so much?

His rationality told him that it was because this wasn't about his bedroom. Wasn't about those four walls, some paint and his old bed sheets. This was about himself. His room had become a physical representation of everything he wanted to do to himself, everything that he'd hoped he would be able to accomplish, but now tha he knew that was impossible, he felt a little jealous of the space. Jealous of the fact that it could be so easily repared when he could not.

And it was so strange, knowing that, accepting it… And still not being able to set foot in there.

He'd been able to overcome so much just by thinking through it up until now. His logical mind had become such a comfort, even though now it seemed to betray him. Logically there was nothing stopping him from going in there and taking a nap on his bed. But emotionally there was a fucking stone wall between him and the bed and he just couldn't climb over it, tunnel under it or blast through it.

Yeah, he could force himself. Could grind his teeth and hide the shudders, hide the goose bumps and the writhing sensation in his middle and go in anyway. But if he did that he worried that it would be more traumatic than never stepping foot in there again.

Claudia took a deep breath, clinging tighter to him and she started to step forward—but he just plainly would not move. Not even an inch. She looked up at him confused and saw the expression on his face. The tightness of his jaw, the lack of color in his cheeks. The wideness of his pupils.

She saw it, and felt something akin to tearing in her chest. She stopped dead and just stared at him for the longest time. "Ezio?"

He gave his head a tiny, barely perceptible shake and a shiver seemed to roll through his body, from the bottoms of his feet to the top of his head.

Claudia read it clearly;

_I can't_, it said. Softly, because he was too prideful a creature to say it himself with as much finality as it called for. _I can't go in there._

She nodded and unlooped her arm from his, stepped just inside the threshold, caught the doorknob and tugged it closed with a click.

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When Maria and Giovanni came home that evening, the house seemed perfectly empty. It was a little frightening because it wasn't supposed to be. Claudia and Ezio were supposed to be here 'hanging out' like they'd claimed they were going to do.

The TV was off, the kitchen was empty… But there was noise from upstairs.

"Hello?" Maria called out, her brows drawn down.

"We're up here!" Claudia called back. "Ezio's letting me fix his disgusting eyebrows!"

"Letting? Mama, she's practically tied me to this chair! It's worse than when we were children!"

Maria rolled her eyes and behind her Giovanni chuckled, remembering how Claudia and Ezio used to play as kids. If Claudia had gone to her older brother looking for company, they usually ended up in the back yard screaming and chasing one another, or throwing a Wiffle Ball back and forth… If Claudia, on the other hand, somehow got Ezio to come to her— Well, Ezio usually ended up letting his little sister play Tea Party, or put 'makeup' on him from one of the small sets Maria had gotten her… More often than not they both wound up looking like clowns and Ezio was scowling and humiliated, but indulgent.

He pictured that now as he patted his wife's hand and went up to check on the two of them while Maria went into the down stairs office for some peace while she graded her students' essays.

Giovanni tried to be quiet, and was rather amused when he made it up stairs and peered into his daughter's room.

Ezio wasn't tied to the chair, but was sitting slumped in it with his head leaned back, while Claudia was perched behind him on the edge of her dressing table with a pair of tweezers running her fingers over his eyebrows to check their evenness. They were talking quietly, amusedly, if the grin on Ezio's face was any hint at all.

"What are you planning on cooking for him?"

"I don't know… I was thinking just some pasta with sausage—" He snorted; "I think I've convinced him to try turkey sausage. I just have to make sure there's no pork in it."

"He doesn't eat pork?" She found a stray little hair and yanked it out.

He winced and reached up to touch the hurt spot but she smacked his fingers away.

"No, I'm lucky I even got him to have a glass of wine at the cooking class we went to."

"OH! I've always wanted to go to a cooking class! Was it fun? Were there any hot guys there?"

Ezio snorted and rolled his eyes beneath their lids; "I was a bit preoccupied… But yes. I've still got one of the fliers around somewhere. The people who host it do one every Monday, maybe you and Desmond can come next time—"

"I am not hooking up with Desmond!" She grabbed a handful of the hair on his head and yanked. "Get that out of your little mind!"

He put a hand on his scalp, trying to soothe the pain. "I'm just teasing. Relax."

She smacked his hand away again and sat back to work on his brows. "I'm more interested in that guy we saw at the bank yesterday."

Ezio hummed in a singsong voice; "You wanna have his babies, doncha!"

Claudia scowled at him and as punishment flipped the end of his nose hard.

His hand came up to cover his nose and he opened his eyes to scowl at her indignantly.

Giovanni crept away before he was noticed, relieved that it was just harmless bickering instead of actual arguing. They'd once argued as children for three weeks almost nonstop over who was better, the Pink Power Ranger, or the Yellow Power Ranger. Giovanni knew for a fact they could out quarrel like two hotshot New York Attorneys. And since Federico was the only one who had ever been able to get them to settle their differences, when his eldest son admitted he wanted to follow a career in Law instead of private banking, Giovanni had been fully and wholely supportive. If Federico could get his younger siblings to stop fighting, imagine what he could do with the rest of the world!

He found Maria down stairs in the office with her students papers spread all around her making notes on grammar and spelling before she went through and read them a second time for composition and subject matter.

"Do you need any help with that?" He crossed his arms and leaned a shoulder against the door facing.

She glanced up over the frames of her reading glasses; "If you want to help I will not deny you."

He nodded and took the seat across the desk from her collecting the pages she handed him and a red pen.

"Just the grammar and spelling right now."

He nodded and started reading through the first one, his lips pursed and his eyes squinted.

Maria giggled and pulled a pair of dark rimmed glasses from the desk drawer to her left, holding them out without a word.

He sighed; "I am not an old man." And took them.

"I never said you were darling." Then after a moment; "How is your stomach today?"

"The same as usual."

She let out a long sigh; "You really should consider what the doctor said, 'Vanni."

"I'm not having surgery just for a few simple ulcors."

"I meant about your diet… When did he suggest surgery?"

Giovanni went very tense for a moment, realizing he'd just talked himself into a hole, and let his breath out in a hiss; "When Mario made me go last week when I became sick at work—"

"You're getting sick again? Why didn't you tell me?"

He flapped his hand; "It wasn't serious—"

"If it was serious enough for Mario to make you go to the hospital, it is quite so."

"Maria, I'm fine."

"What was it this time? Heartburn? Chest pains?"

"It was nothing—" He stammered; "J-just a little blood—"

Maria slapped her papers down on the desktop; "'Just a little blood,' he says. Giovanni, this is your health we're talking about! I am not going to lose you because you are too stubborn to heed a dottore's warning!"

"I am not going to die because of a few ulcors."

"We are not arguing about this. I'm scheduling an appointment."

"Maria—" His brows had scrunched and he'd lifted a hand to point at her—

Her eyes narrowed; "If you ever wish to have sex with me again, Giovanni Auditore, you will close your mouth before you make an ass of yourself."

He deflated quickly, cowed, and slumped in his chair rubbing his face. "God in Heaven, the things I let you talk me into—"

She smiled; "I have you by the balls, my love. I have since you were nineteen and you drove that car into the ditch so you could talk to me."

"Yes, and I've enjoyed every minute of it."

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Saturday came slowly. The kind of slow that you find yourself sitting and day dreaming about, and pulling at your hair when you realize again that there are five whole days worth of pointless toil between you and your goal.

Altair was not in a good mood when he heard the knock on his office door. He'd developed a rather nasty headache that had been plaguing him for days now and had found himself waking every few hours during the previous four nights because the stillness—the emptiness of his bed unnerved him.

Even worse than the headache had been the outright tiredness. Mentally and physically. His muscles ached and his stomach was sore… He supposed the rigorous exercise he'd had running in the park and over rooftops every morning since Ezio had gone home had something to do with it… Or the rigorous sex was catching up to him, so he didn't complain.

Malik had been no help either. The older man's behavior had been very suspicious of late. During the day he was normal… Well as normal as Malik could get. His instances of fawning over Hadiya were becoming more frequent though. Sitting beside her on the couch, those secret glances that ended with a movie put in to amuse the children, Altair in charge while they crept off secretly to their bedroom.

It was at night that worried Altair.

Nights that had become less and less restful for the PI.

Malik woke at strange hours, and Altair could see him— most usually when he hid and peered around corners at the older man— pacing around with an almost feverish light in his eyes. He'd reorganized all the food in the pantry three times now, cleaned out the fridge nightly, more often than not eating the leftovers cold.

Altair was beginning to worry that Malik may have started taking pills again. He couldn't otherwise explain why Malik would be up at two-thirty in the morning feverishly shoveling cold canned carrots and whipped cream into his mouth. Or why he'd gone through four bags of potato chips in the past week.

During the first few weeks after Malik had pulled him off the street Altair had become intimately aware of Malik's Compulsive Routines and how he acted when sober… and when not.

Those first few weeks had been nightmarish, Hadiya trying desperately to keep the older man's pills away from him, but still being sympathetic because even if the pain was from withdrawl, he was still in pain. It had taken Altair pulling her aside one afternoon while Malik had been wandering around in a daze because he'd guilt tripped Hadiya into giving him a few pills so he could sleep— and telling her that this wasn't Malik anymore. That she had to stop being sympathetic or she would never get him back.

She'd flushed the pills down the toilet that night and while Malik had been asleep, with Altair's help had dragged him into the bathroom, used the shiny new handcuffs Altair had gotten for his work and chained Malik to the big iron, clawfooted tub.

It had been a new and unique breed of hell helping, and watching Hadiya dry him out, and he was horrified of the concept of having to do it again, especially with children around. Malik had become violent, had screamed and howled and ranted non-stop for three days amid the vomiting and sickness. Had knocked Altair flat with a kick to his chin when the PI had been trying to wrestle him under a cool shower to bring down his fever.

It had been an experience Altair, and Hadiya would much rather forget. But now, now Malik was displaying the same behavior as he had then. Eating strange things and staring into space for hours at a time, not sleeping, or sleeping when he shouldn't be.

Hadiya hadn't said anything, but Altair supposed she had enough to worry about on her own. She was wearing baggier clothing, and Altair knew it wouldn't be much longer before hiding her pregnancy was no longer an option.

The worry, was killing him…

Or had been until about four that evening when that knock on his door came.

He lifted his head at about the same time the door opened and Ezio poked his head in, practically hidden behind a paper bag of groceries. "Behold!" He said in a deep falsetto, "I bring Turkey Sausage and and other tastie amenities." He brandished the bag proudly but his smile began to fade quickly when he actually saw Altair. "Jesus, you look awful." He sat the bag down in one of the chairs before Altair's desk and circled around, tugging the PI and his desk chair out far enough to push back his hood and flatten both hands on his face.

Altair sighed and leaned into the younger man, wrapping both arms around his middle and hiding his face in his chest. "I've had a shitty week."

Ezio hummed and pressed his own wrist to his forehead, comparing their temperatures.

"I had to help Walker try to chase down this kid on drug charges last night… Chased him halfway across the city and I lost him. Slimy little fuck… Then Chris called me, and wanted me to play his patsy and help him flush out a few prostitutes that've been eluding him. I told him no and he jumped my case about you and I told him to go fuck himself and he hung up on me…"

"Your brothers know about us?"

Altair sighed deeply; "Chris likes to bullshit and I fell for it, so yes, now he knows… Worse than that, my dad probably knows now—" He groaned and hid his face in Ezio's chest again. "I'm so tired of this shit…" A sigh; "And on top of that I think Malik's on drugs again."

Ezio hummed a second time, his brows drawn down as he thought it all over. "I brought a bottle of wine… My mom said it's really good."

Altair tilted his head and peered up with a tiny little hint of a grin on his face; "Tryin' to get me drunk?"

"Wine cures everything. Especially this wine… My grandparents make it every year. It's never much, but my mother says it tastes fantastic."

Altair sighed again and leaned back rubbing his face; "I never had grandparents—"

"Yes you did, you just didn't know them. Saying you never had them in the first place is basically saying you don't have parents either. That you just sprang into existence like mold."

"Maybe I am a mold. I feel like one…"

Ezio rolled his eyes; "Yes, a big lazy fat mold."

"I'm not fat."

Ezio poked him in the stomach, ala the Pilsbury Doughboy… And frowned when instead of squirming ticklishly Altair just winced.

"Alright, what's wrong. Did you get hurt or something?" He propped his behind on Altair's desk and crossed his arms.

"No, I'm just sore."

"Why?" He rolled his eyes; "Been enjoying those new _socks?"_

Altair looked away guiltily and his cheeks were decidedly pink.

"I knew it. You're addicted."

"No, I'm stressed, there's a difference."

Ezio let out a deep sigh and didn't argue further. "Fine… Well, I'm going to go put this stuff away. We can start dinner at about… What do you say, six?"

Altair nodded and slouched in his seat with his arms crossed over his stomach.

Ezio gathered up his groceries, pulled Altair's hood back long enough to peck him on the forehead, and off he went up stairs.

Malik was there, standing in the kitchen with the fridge door open staring in unblinkingly, fingers rapping out a fast cadence in the butter compartment on the door.

Ezio watched him warily, giving an all-purpose-nod when Malik looked up at him and scowled.

The older man turned quickly back to his studies and Ezio sat the grocery bag on the counter. He swallowed thickly, unnerved by the energy rolling off the one armed printer. It was hectic, almost mad energy like lust and rage all rolled into one. Ezio cleared his throat; "Looking for anything in particular?"

Malik didn't look up but spoke from the corner of his mouth; "Not unless you've got kosher dill pickles and black licorice in that bag."

Ezio shook his head; "No, sorry."

Malik said no more.

"Altair's worried about you."

Those fingers stopped their drumming.

"He doesn't look like he's been sleeping."

Malik snorted amusedly. "If you're trying to make me feel sorry for his lack of sleep you'll have to try a lot harder than that."

Ezio's brows scrunched down indignantly and his lips compressed. He hadn't been around Malik enough to really peg the man's personality. He'd known, though, just from their few meetings, that Malik was rarely ever a bullshitter. He was who he was and if you didn't like it you could go fuck yourself. So, Ezio decided it was probably best to just bite the bullet so to speak, and SAY it.

"He thinks you're on drugs again and it's scaring him to death."

Malik did raise his head then and he stared with wide eyes right into Ezio's face. "What did you say?"

Ezio swallowed, the tension in the room growing to something insufferably intense; "H-he's afraid you're on drugs again."

Malik's brows drew down severely and his eyes seemed to darken, expression suddenly indignant; "I never was, and never will be _'on drugs'_."

Ezio paled—

"—I was abusing prescription medication." He turned back to the contents of the fridge; "There's a difference… Drugs are illegal to have in your possession. Prescription pain medication is not."

Ezio swallowed thickly; "It's still an addiction—"

"If you start in on that 'addiction is a disease' bullshit I'll throw you out—"

"—I would know."

Malik's teeth clicked together and he turned quickly and stared at Ezio without a word.

Ezio leaned his hip against the counter and crossed his arms; "You don't really think I spent all those years doing what I did and didn't once try to find an escape, do you?"

Malik didn't move.

"I know why you did it. I understand it. It was the same reason I did… but if you're doing it again you need to know that it doesn't help—"

"I'm not taking pills again…" He sighed loudly and his head bowed, back straightening as he leaned out of the fridge. He let the door shut and scrubbed his brow with his fingertips. "I'm merely experiencing abnormal cumpulsatory hunger pains."

Ezio snorted.

Malik looked ready to throttle him.

"You're having cravings?"

The muscles in Malik's jaw flexed but he didn't speak.

"Does this have something to do with your wife being pregnant?"

Malik's eye peeked out between two of his fingers like some alien creature peering from the crack of doom. "He told you!"

Ezio shook his head; "Call it a sixth sense… I can look at a woman and tell if she's on her period or pregnant or not."

Malik looked mortified.

"So, what is it… What's going on?"

The older man let out a sigh that was better constituted as a whimper; "Hadiya hasn't once craved anything unusual like she has before… She wanted Knish and Maple syrup and chili peppers coated in cream cheese and walnuts before. But this time it's only been chocolate bars, hummus, or fried green tomatoes… she hasn't wanted one single thing out of the ordinary. but I, on the other hand, have…"

"You're experiencing your wife's pregnancy cravings…"

Ezio took the silence as a big fat YES, and worked his tongue around the backs of his teeth. "I'm gonna make dinner for Altair later… And I've got some fresh Mozzarella if that'll help."

"Dill pickles and black licorice." He leaned back into the fridge, ending the conversation.

Ezio gave half a shrug, turned and fished in his shopping bag for a moment. Without a word he pulled out a single short, stout bottle and sat it on the counter, nudging it toward Malik with a somehow blank expression on his face.

Malik blinked from the corner of his eye, his nose wrinkled up distastefully. "I don't drink alcohol."

Ezio found the other half of his shrug and fetched a tall glass down from the cupboard; "Do you mind if I drink it?"

Malik was quiet for a few seconds, eyeballing him, then he shook his head and tried to become interested in the fridge again.

"There are two things strange about Guinness," Ezio began seeming to caress the bottle as he picked it up; "Aside from its dark color that is…" He pulled a bottle opener keychain from his pocket and examined it for a minute, holding it up to the light before he lowered it. "Guinness is the only beer you'll find whose bubbles sink rather than rise…" It fizzed a little as he opened it, pouring it slowly into the glass. He tipped the empty bottle up over his mouth and caught a few stray droplets on his tongue; "And it has a most unusual flavor…"

"I don't drink alcohol… Even it does smell like licorice…"

"I doubt one beer is going to hurt you…" He lowered his voice; _"And if I'm not mistaken, you're not Orthidox, are you."_

Malik sneered at him and slammed the fridge so hard it rocked sharply against the wall. He stomped out of the room and everything was quiet for a ten count.

Ezio grinned evilly as the older man stomped hatefully back into the room, grabbed up the glass and stomped out again fuming.

_"I really think you'll enjoy it!"_ He called after the printer in Arabic.

_"Go enjoy your Christian hell!"_ Malik kicked the door to his office and it slammed shut.

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Thirty minutes later Ezio was browning the turkey sausage in a skillet, Altair had decided to make an appearance and had perched himself on the counter behind him picking through the Tupperware containers Ezio had brought with him.

There was a small one filled with fresh basil, another in which there was a baseball sized orb of fresh mozzarella, a few nice sized tomatoes, a bottle of olive oil, a package of fun-sized Snicker's bars, a Ball jar filled with stewed tomatoes Ezio said he'd grown himself. And a fat little bowl of delicate looking little melon balls in a sweet sherry sauce.

Ezio had pasta ready to boil and was in the middle of explaining his Grandmother's recipe when he felt more than heard Malik come back into the kitchen.

No one spoke as Malik walked in, nose lifted, an expression on his face that dared either of them to say a word, and put his empty glass in the sink, running cold water in it for rinse, then politely turned around—found the remaining five bottles of Guinness in that little black and gold carton, and left with them. The door to his upstairs office shutting quietly as he retreated.

Ezio bowed his head and tried to choke back his laughter.

Altair snorted; "What was that about?"

"I brought those for my brother actually… I'm supposed to go over to his place tomorrow and he's going to help me study for my Pre-Test."

Altair's brows drew down. "Then why did you let him take them?"

Ezio shrugged one shoulder and lifted the soft fresh pasta he'd made before coming over from its container, draping it delicately over his hands as he ease it into the hot water to cook. "He looked like he needed it more than Federico anyway… Besides I can always buy another pack. No big deal."

Altair chuckled and rubbed at his stomach; "Yeah, it is a big deal. Malik's only had alcohol once in his life, and that was at his wedding."

Ezio paused, looking up, eyes finding something interesting mid air about three feet away as he thought; "He's probably gonna get drunk then… I know the first time I had beer three of them knocked me out."

He got a hum in response; "I've got to find my video camera then, this'll make a funny video for YouTube…" He splayed his hands out like displaying a banner of some kind; "Malik Drunk; Come one, Come all!"

Ezio shook his head amusedly. "You wanna cut up those tomatoes I brought?"

Altair grunted and hopped off the counter. He went very still for a moment, bent forward slightly with a hand on his middle.

Ezio's eyes narrowed in concern; "You OK?"

After a minute Altair nodded and let his breath out in a hiss, giving his hands a quick scrub at the sink and shoving the sleeves of his sweatshirt up to his elbows as he pulled a knife from the drawer.

The concern however, did not leave Ezio's expression and he turned back to his sausage, making sure it was fully cooked; "My dad has to have an operation."

Altair turned and blinked at him; "What? Why?"

"He has ulcors. One of them's getting pretty bad I guess." He picked a piece of sausage out of the pan, blew on it a few seconds to cool it and popped it between his teeth; "They're gonna like—" He swallowed; "—Like run a camera into his stomach to see why they're not healing."

"Are they not healing?"

Ezio shook his head; "My mom says he's been on antibiotics for a while—Most ulcors are caused by bacteria or a virus—And they haven't cleared up."

"I thought ulcors were caused by stress."

"So did I… Some are, but they're rare."

Altair shrugged and continued slicing the tomatoes as carefully, and into as uniform a thickness as he could. "What're the symptoms?"

Ezio shrugged; "My dad tries to keep stuff like that private. He doesn't like to worry us—Especially me." He frowned; "But, probably heartburn, nausea… Stomach pain." He flapped a hand and shifted the sausage to one of the back burners. "Have you finished with the tomatoes?"

Altair grunted and continued slicing.

"Would you rather have them sautéd or just drizzled in some olive oil with salt."

"Doesn't matter to me. Hell, Ezio, I've eaten stuff from garbage cans before. Home cooked meals are a luxury."

Ezio chuckled knowingly; "Yeah, tell me about it. That hospital food in Rabat was like… Hell, it tasted awesome compared to some of the stuff I'd eaten."

Altair chuckled again, and leaned backward, giving the younger man a quick peck on the cheek before he turned back to the tomatoes.

Dinner… No, Altair decided this was a goddamned FEAST, was fantastic. Altair vowed never to eat boxed pasta ever again.

They took what they would eat down to Altair's bedroom and left the rest for Hadiya and Malik as a 'Thank You' for allowing them use of the kitchen. They ate stting in the floor listening to the TV while they talked.

"Was staying with your parents OK?" Altair mumbled around a mouthful.

Ezio nodded, still nibbling his bread and tomatoes and twiddling a medallion of cheese between his free fingers. "It was OK. I've claimed the downstairs apartment though, so my uncle's gonna have to find a new place to bring girls to fuck."

Altair snorted and coughed quietly in his fist to clear his throat.

Ezio grinned at him mischievously. "Joking."

The older man rolled his eyes.

Then Ezio looked away, eyes drawn by something happening on the TV; "I can't go into my bedroom… I tried a couple times, but I… I just can't."

Altair was quiet, just looking at him.

"I know it's stupid—"

"It's not stupid." Altair took a drink, thinking the wine looked a little silly in a tumbler instead of one of those tall goblets like at the cooking class, but he wasn't going to complain. It did taste good. "Pick your battles… Don't push yourself on little things like that. Sooner or later you'll either get over the fear of it, or you won't. But don't make yourself do something you're not ready to do. Not when there are bigger things."

Ezio nodded and it was quiet for a few minutes, just Altair quietly chewing.

"Your Detective Hayes called me the other day." Ezio said into his glass.

Altair's left brow crooked up.

"He said he and the FBI needed my help with something…" He swallowed. "Some guy tried to grab a couple kindergarteners on North Side the other day."

Altair's eyes widened.

"He wants me to come in and see if I can ID the guy."

"Why you? Walker doesn't have to call you in just because some—"

"He wants me to come in because the guy said something about Borgia."

Altair's face went white.

Ezio cleared his throat and rubbed uncomfortably at his neck; "One of the kids told your brother that the guy had said the name 'Borgia'… A-and he'd said my name."

"Ezio—"

"I told him I'd help."

"No."

Ezio looked up, startled at the force in Altair's voice. And was a little alarmed to see the dark expression on his face.

"I don't want you going over there. Not after what The Old Man pulled last time. They've already proven they don't care if you get hurt or not, and I—"

"Altair, I have to. I—I'd never be able to forgive myself if another kid got hurt like I did because I did nothing." His brows narrowed right back, his voice rising just as quickly as the PI's had. "I am not going to let what happened stop me from doing everything I can to ensure this never happens to another child. It hurt and it's terrifying, but I can't do NOTHING. I can't forget this, as much as I want to—As much as I want to pretend it never happened, it DID. It happened and I am not going to let those sick men get away with it!"

Altair was quiet, as badly as he wanted to argue he knew he couldn't. If he said what he wanted to say he would be throwing Ezio's trauma right back into the young man's face. Would be trying to convince him he was broken, and it was quite obvious that Ezio was not broken. He wouldn't let himself be broken…

Altair just hoped that Ezio's determination to prove he was whole didn't crack open those still healing wounds.

"Alright… But you're not going alone."

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_Hubby and I actually have an RP going while we were at work, he was Malik and I was Altair and one of our coworkers told us we were stupid and yaoi was disgusting. So Hubby turned, did his best Malik face and birthed that line up there. 'Go enjoy your Christian hell!' _

_*lurves him* _

…

_I thought it was funny anyway… =3=_

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	69. Chapter 69

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**Chapter 69; One, Two, Three**

Federico answered the door still wearing his pajamas, which funnily enough consisted of a pair of Katie's pink and green plaid fleece pants and a T-shirt with a silk screen of a tuxedo on the front. Complete with red carnation and ruffled shirt.

He yawned and motioned Ezio in, holding a finger to his lips indicating Katie and Baby Gio were still asleep and lead his younger brother into the kitchen. They talked quietly while Federico made coffee and went about preparing a batter for French Toast.

"Is Katie off from work?" Ezio whispered spooning a little sugar into his mug.

Federico nodded; "Off today and tomorrow. She's sleeping like the dead."

"And when do you take the Bar?"

"After Christmas… I've been pouring through books for weeks."

Ezio snorted and pulled his bag up onto the table, giving the zipper a yank and sliding his books out. "You and me both…" He had the English text open to the section on verb congigation and parts of speech. "This… this is insanity." He tapped the pages with the backs of his fingers. "What kind of idiot makes this shit up!"

Federico chuckled; "Oh, that's nothing. That's CAKE compared to all the crap I have to know."

Ezio rolled his eyes.

"Seriously!"

"You don't—"

"Ezio, what is subinfeudation?"

He blinked; "Sub-infludee-what now?"

Federico just chuckled under his breath and took a long drink of his coffee.

"That's not a real word, you're bullshitting me."

"I shit thee not, little brother." Another chuckle; "Verb congigation is chocolate cake…"

"But it makes absolutely no sense!"

"Finish this sentence… 'She 'BLANK' going to the store.'"

"That makes no sense!"

"Ezio, it's very simple. Try it this way… What other languages do you speak?"

"Italian, French, Arabic and Spanish."

"Alright, for each language when you're talking about a female, you use a different word as when you're talking about a male. Masculine verbs and feminine verbs, right? This isn't any different. If you just think about how you talk it's very easy. And as for parts of speech, that's a load of bullshit, but its bullshit that comes in very handy…"

"Then you do it."

Federico made a spluttering noise into his coffee; "No way, the only reason I passed English in high school was because I was messing around with a girl in the Honor Society and she would prattle on and on about stuff in my ear while we were going at it."

Ezio snorted quietly and bowed his head.

"It's very boring…"

"That's not helping me figure this out." He sighed and rubbed the amusement from his face; "This is serious, Federico. I really want to do well on this test. It means a lot to me."

He let his breath out in a whoosh and propped his jaw on his fist; "Fine… how are you on the math and science portions?"

"Math I'm OK at. That's pretty easy actually… Science is not too bad—"

"Katie is a nurse you know… She's almost finished with her RN training as well. She knows a lot about biology and stuff."

He hummed but said nothing about it, just kept pecking the pages in the English book disinterestedly. "Mama's explained this to me a few times, but I just don't get it. What's the difference between a verb and an adverb? Or a proper noun and a—a… what the fuck is this, gerund?" He rubbed at his brow; _"Piece of shit… I can't understand a bit of it."_

Federico sighed and took the book propping it open on the table and paging back and forth through that particular chapter. "You know how to read, right?"

"No, Federico. I'm completely illiterate."

"Smartass… Look, it explains it all right here at the beginning of the chapter!" He stood and went to the stove, dipping bread in the eggy batter he'd made and dropping it carefully into a pan.

"I've read it nine times and it doesn't stick." He poked himself in the temple and let his breath hiss between his teeth; "I can't understand it, alright? I just CAN'T!"

"Fine… then—then just baffle them with bullshit." He waved his spatula over his head.

"What?" His brows scrunched indignantly.

"Papa always told me that if you can't dazzle them with your intilect, then baffle them with bullshit."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means, Ezio, that you fake it and hope for the best." He stacked a few finished slices on a plate and slid it across the table to Ezio. "Syrup is in the cabinet behind you."

"That's not helpful—" He turned and pulled the bottle down.

"No, it's not, but you're obviously too upset over this to think clearly and I don't want to argue with you."

"Since when do you not like to argue?" He grumbled around a mouthful.

"Oh I didn't say I don't like to argue, I just said I don't want to argue with _you."_

"And why the hell not?"

"Because you're upset and the last time you were so upset and I tried to argue with you, you punched me in the balls."

"I was ten."

"And you made my voice so high pitched I _sounded_ ten." He was smiling fondly and when Ezio scowled and crossed his arms he just shook his head. "Don't worry about it."

"I have to worry about it… You were lucky, if you failed this you still graduated. If I fail I don't get my GED."

"Ezio, it's a pre-test, not the real thing. If you don't pass the pre-test all that means is you have to take classes where a teacher explains the things you didn't understand. It doesn't mean you failed at life… Stop worrying so much. I know it's important to you, that's very—very obvious, but you shouldn't obsess over it so. You'll give yourself ulsers, just like dad."

He scowled at the older man for a while, but couldn't pick apart the logic of it, so with a sigh he slumped back in his seat and rubbed at his forehead with rigid fingers. "I'm just worried—"

"I understand that, trust me I understand that." Federico bowed his cheek onto his folded arms and let his eyes close tiredly. "You don't have to be perfect, just be you, alright? You'll learn, sooner or later… Maybe."

"Smartass."

"Hmmm, that makes one of us."

"Did you just call me an idiot?"

"No, I would _never_ do that!" He gave Ezio's cheek a pat and grinned; "At least you're pretty."

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Altair was lying on the couch in his office when his phone rang. He didn't answer it right away, the throbbing in his head hadn't abated yet and living with it for so long was slowly driving him insane. Add to that the shrill ringing of his cell and part of him wanted to bash his brains out against the old sealed up chimney behind him, just so he could have a moment's peace.

When the phone didn't stop ringing after the third trill though, he grumbled and pulled it from the pocket of his jacket, not bothering to look at the screen before he answered it.

"Hello?"

"Altair?"

"Yeah?"

"Oh… wow, you sound terrible."

"'got a headache, Ezio…"

"I'm sorry… I—I can call back later if you want to—"

"No, no it's you so it's okay. Just… just don't get mad if I don't say much."

Ezio's voice smiled tenderly; "I won't get mad… I—Well, what I mean is, my father's operation is Friday and I… I'm kinda—" He cleared his throat. "I was just wondering if you'd come with me… give me someone to talk to so I'm not just sitting there worrying."

"'course… 'don't even have to ask." He pulled the strings on his hood to block out the sunlight still filtering in through the shut blinds.

"Altair?"

"Hmmm?"

"Are you feeling alright?"

"Yeah… I'm fine."

"Liar."

"Ezio—"

"You were acting weird Saturday too. Do you have food poisoning again?"

"No, I'm alright, I'm—I'm just exhausted…"

"Why are you exhausted? Still having fun with your socks?"

"Not in a couple days, no… Do it too much and you get really sore."

Ezio snorted; "Yeah. 'know that for a fact… Are you doing new exercises maybe?"

"No… I've been lazy today."

"Then why are you exhausted?"

He didn't want Ezio to know that he'd had trouble sleeping without the younger man there, that he'd woken up from strange twisted dreams every night with heartburn and had had to stumble upstairs and argue long enough with Malik to get the Pepto out of the fridge.

No, it wasn't food poisoning, he really wasn't sure what it was, but he was tired of it.

"I can't sleep."

Ezio was quiet for a moment; "Why not?"

"Too quiet."

And the younger man sighed, speaking slowly, his voice hushed and barely audible; "I have to sleep with the TV on, maybe you should try that."

Altair didn't want to admit that he had tried it, so he just nodded and said that he would. "Hey… I forgot to ask you the other day… How was your parents' anneversary?"

Ezio hummed; "It went really well. We had a hard time keeping it secret, Mama and Papa kept calling at really awkward moments but we managed to get everything set up without them knowing." He giggled; "We even spent the night with Federico and Katie so they could have some _alone time."_

Altair grinned; "You guys seeme to be pretty accepting of the fact your parents have sex… I remember walking in on my adoptive parents once… It was horrifying."

Ezio snorted; "That's because your adoptive parents are old… And your dad is an asshole."

"'completely agree with you there."

Ezio hummed again and there was something mischievous in his tone; "I have a word for you… Since you seemed so eager to learn Italian…"

"Okay, lay it on me."

_"Maestro." _

_"Maestro?_ Isn't that what you call the conductor of an orchestra?"

"It means 'Master'… As in the Master of a specific art or science."

"Does that make me the Maestro of Socks?"

Ezio snorted; "Master of Socks… I'm making you a sock puppet for Christmas."

"Sock puppet? Like an actual sock puppet, or a SOCK puppet? Because if that's what you mean, I'm a little curious as to how that would work."

And it came out without his intention, it came out simply because he enjoyed having conversations with Altair filled with innuendo and sexual tension simply because he knew the PI was only playing with him and wouldn't do anything unless he was OK with it.

"No, I'm going to make YOU a sockpuppet… As in your ass on my dick."

The instant it was out of his mouth he wanted to suck the words back in again and swallow them. His breath hitched and everything ground to an abrupt and silent halt.

Altair let out a low sound in his throat; "Sounds like fun."

"Y-you know I'm just joking, right?"

"If that's what you want, Ezio, I'm up for it… I like it either way."

He swallowed but nodded, even though Altair couldn't see him. "Anyway… I—uh—I appreciate you coming with me on Friday… I mean, I know he's gonna be OK, but it's still—"

"You don't have to explain yourself, Ezio, I understand. Which hospital is he going to?"

Ezio sighed and told him, rolling onto his back across his bed in the basement apartment. "He's really not very happy about it. He's not allowed to eat anything, only liquids and nothing twenty-four hours beforehand."

"If you guys always eat things like you made on Saturday I feel sorry for him. That was really good."

Had he been in the same room with Altair he would have made a flourishing handgesture and bowed, as it was he just laughed quietly. "We don't eat like that all the time. Usually only when someone has time to cook."

"Your sister can cook like that too?"

"No, Claudia burns water. She's too impatient sometimes… But she can make really good rum cake."

"Rum cake… I've never actually had one of those. I heard they're good though."

"Very good."

Altair hummed; "Your Pre-test is the twenty-first, right?"

He groaned; "I don't want to think about it!"

"Okay," Altair sounded amused but didn't press the matter.

"Altair?"

"What?"

"I called your brother again today, he wants me to help with a sting… What is a sting exactly?"

Altair sighed and rubbed at his brow again wearily; "I don't think you'll want to do it… They can go wrong very quickly."

"Oh… b-but what is it?"

"It depends… Most usually it involves someone undercover putting themselves in a situation to catch suspected perpetrators in the act… He wanted me to help him do something similar a few days ago. Wanted me to pose as a prospective John and try to catch a couple prostitutes… Honestly, Ezio, I'm not very comfortable with the idea of you helping him with a sting. If it went wrong you could get hurt… There was a guy a while back in a prescinct a little farther north thanWalker's, that almost got killed in a sting operation."

"I'll be careful… He already promised that help would only be one word away…"

"You already agreed to it?"

"Kind of… I-I told him before that I would help… I just didn't—" He took a deep breath and let it out. No more bullshit. "I want to help, Altair. And I know I'm asking a lot, but—"

"I already told you you're not doing it alone…Walker'll just have to suck it up and deal." He let out a sigh; "What day are they setting up?"

"Sunday…"

"Where?"

"I don't know yet."

"I'll find out… Don't worry about it."

"I'm still gonna worry about it… No matter what you say."

"Okay, but don't let it eat you alive… Go—go upstairs and hang out with your family for a while and try not to think about it—you did tell your dad, right?"

Ezio didn't say anything.

"Ezio—"

"He has to have surgery, Altair… He's cranky and upset enough, this'll only make his ulsers worse."

"Ezio—"

"I'll tell him afterward… I'm not lying to him! I'm just waiting until the most appropriate moment to tell him."

"Did you tell your mother? Or your sister, or one of your brothers at least?"

Another little silence.

"Ezio, you really—"

"I told _you,_ that's enough."

"No it's not—"

"I'll be fine, Altair… And you'll be there, so that makes it even more safe."

"I'm no more safe than my brother. Things can go very wrong—"

"But they won't… I—I have to do this. I have to… please try to understand."

And in some twisted way, Altair did. He didn't exactly agree with Ezio's plan, and he made that perfectly clear, but he promised to be there anyway, to make sure nothing bad happened.

The next three days passed at a crawl.

Ezio called at least four times a day and for most of the time they stayed on the line they just listened to one another breathe.

Wednesday evening, at almostmidnight, Altair had had enough. He staggered upstairs and knocked quietly on Malik and Hadiya's bedroom door, asking when it was cracked open and Hadiya peered sleepily out, if he could have a few of her migraine pills because his headache just wasn't going away no matter what he did.

She disappeared for a few minutes and came back with the bottle, shaking one out into his hand before she disappeared again.

He took it, trying not to gag when the feeling of so much water in his stomach became too much, and thrity minutes later was curled on the couch with his head pillowed on one of Kalila's stuffied bears snoring softly into the couch cushions.

Hadiya's migraine medication, he'd come to realize, would knock you flat. They had to be magical, that was the only way to explain it. He slept through the shouting match that morning when Gadil refused to go to school and went on a little tirade stomping and screaming and cursing. He slept through the insuing argument Malik had with his eldest son that he _was_ going to school and he'd better get those filthy words out of his mouth that instant or when he got home he'd go straight to his room, do his homework and then to bed. That escalated to Gadil throwing a punch at his father and ending up going to school with out breakfast and a promise from his mother that when he got home there would be a serious price to pay for his behavior.

Altair even slept through Malik plopping down on the couch by his feet once Hadiya and the older children were gone, Zafir enjoying reruns of Star Trek from his place under the coffee table, and venting quietly that he couldn't understand what had gotten into Gadil lately, that maybe the boy was jealous that his mother was pregnant. "Maybe we should have waited longer to tell them… He was very jealous when Zafir was born, but he's never acted out like this before… He's usually so level headed." Malik rubbed the hair on his chin, pulling at it as he thought. "Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary?"

Altair pried his eye open and blinked at Malik when the older man shook him violently awake; "Altair, did you hear me?"

"Huh?"

"Didn't you hear a word I just said?" He looked incredulous, brows hooked like horns above his dark angry eyes.

Altair grunted; "No… sorry." His eyes slid closed again and he nuzzled back into the stuffed creature he had his head on.

Malik rolled his eyes and dropped his face into his hand; "Forget it…"

Altair finally came out of his migraine pill coma sometime afternoon. He knew because Malik was in the kitchen making grilled cheese for Zafir's lunch. He lay there for a while, just letting sensation creep back into his limbs, and was pleased when his head didn't start pounding like a bass drum again.

_Magic… Those fucking pills are magic._

He climbed slowly to his feet, wary that any movement may make his skull start ringing again, and rubbed at the tenderness in his midsection as he shuffled into the kitchen.

Zafir was sitting on his father's foot, both legs and arms wrapped around Malik's calf, jabbering away in Arabic as he counted on his fingers all the way to ten, and then did it in Spanish.

"Hey, look at that. He's not just speaking Arabic anymore!"

Malik scowled at him.

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Upon Ezio's request Altair showed up Thrusday evening. He took a cab instead of walking from the train station, the tenderness in his stomach had escalated into an almost painful pressure and walking for more than short distances made him feel nauseous. He'd begun, that morning, contemplating seeing a doctor himself… Maybe he had ulcers too? Maybe it was something worse.

Whatever it was though, was pushed from his mind the instant Ezio's mother opened the door. His own discomfort could wait for a little while longer. He was here to support Ezio, not whine that his stomach hurt.

Maria was frazzled looking, but regal in a strange way. There was a quiet dignity about her, a pride that couldn't be killed, but also a weariness because it was obvious— just from what Altair knew about Giovanni— that she had had a hard time keeping her husband away from food before his procedure… The man liked to eat.

Her eyes flashed when she opened the door, and a grin curled her lips; "Good," She said; "One less thing to worry about." She tangled her fingers in the front of Altair's jacket and pulled him unceremoniously into the foyer.

"EZIO!" She called, taking a moment to brush the wrinkles and imaginary dust from Altair's dark coat. "Someone's here to see you!"

There was a loud thud from above his head, and a brief silence followed by the sound of tussling on the stairs.

Altair followed the sound of footfalls with his eyes, leaning to the side to peer into the living room, catching Ezio's legs as he took the stairs three at a time, Claudia right behind him.

A tiny bit of tension in Altair's chest eased when he saw the younger man, dressed in a pair of jeans he'd torn off at the knees and a black t-shirt with a silkscreen of one obscure band or another—one that was very familiar and had most likely been pilfered from the PI's closet along with his white jacket.

Ezio looked different, although Altair didn't at first realize why, and part of him briefly imagined what the Auditore family would have been like if Ezio had not been kidnapped. He imagined it would be something like this. The wide grin on Ezio's face, as he and his sister shoved one another good naturedly on the stiars until with a little growl Claudia launched herself and clung to Ezio's back like a monkey.

"I'M NOT FINISHED!" Claudia said tersely, tackling him onto the couch and sitting on the small of his back, continuing to drag a comb through his wet hair.

Altair imagined that this playfulness would not have been there if Ezio hadn't been taken. He imagined that as they'd gotten older Ezio and Claudia would have grown apart, possibly even become distant.

"Claudia! Not in front of him! PLEASE!" He writhed, trying to throw her off. Then called out in Arabic so only Altair would understand him; _"She's trying to turn me into a woman!"_

Altair called back; _"Looks to me as if she's trying to turn you into a poodle. Watch out, she has a bow!"_

Ezio bucked and managed to dislodge her, clambered to his feet and put the couch between them.

And that's when Altair realized why Ezio looked different. When last he'd seen Ezio, the young man had been clean shaven and now he was most definitely not.

After Ezio was able to run around the couch enoughtimes to get away from his sister, he stood ramrod straight in front of the PI with wide eyes and flushed cheeks… And Altair found himself a little entranced by it.

It wasn't much of a beard, just a fuzzy little thing on his chin and above his lips… It actually looked kind of cute. He reached up and tugged gently on the longer hairs on Ezio's chin; "Channeling Malik are we?"

Ezio rolled his eyes. "I've been too busy with studying and worrying to shave… Claudia did it, blame her." He ran a hand through his hair; "She trimmed my hair too, see?"

Altair couldn't really tell a difference, but he nodded anyway, just to be supportive.

"He wouldn't let me braid it." Claudia said, sprawling her self across the back of the couch, scowling severely at him. "I asked him if I could curl it, but he said no to that too."

_"She really is trying to turn me into a poodle."_

Maria sighed deeply and rubbed her hands on the thighs of her slacks. She said that she'd made soup and salad and that they had better hurry and eat before their father woke up from his nap and made those horrificly pathetic faces at them.

Altair didn't want to seem rude by saying he wasn't hungry, and didn't want to worry Ezio further by saying his stomach hurt too much to eat, so he forced some down anyway, groaning mournfully inside because despite how good it tasted he felt ready to burst any moment.

Giovanni came down from his nap looking haggard and frizzy headed, arms crossed tightly over his middle. He tried a few times to distract his wife with smiles and chatter so he could slip some bread or a few cherry tomatoes off the table, but Maria was like a hawk and every time his fingers inched toward the tabletop she swatted them back into his lap with a kind grin.

Ezio's younger brother showed up at nearly nine toting a duffle bag stuffed to the brim with dirty laundry and a bright purple hickey on the side of his neck he tried futilly to hide beneath his jacket collar.

Claudia didn't say a word, but that grin was enough to make the younger boy squirm and blush.

And then Altair was introduced to what Ezio called his room. A furnished basement apartment complete with a small kitchenette and bathroom.

Ezio made him sit on the sofa against the far wall, bounded into the bedroom and reappeared with a package wrapped in brown paper and twine. He looked very excited about it and stepped up onto the couch beside the PI and plopped his behind down on the arm, presenting the package on outstretched palms. "Happy Non-Birthday!" Then as an afterthought; "Happy Late-Late-LATE NON-Birthday."

Altair rolled his eyes appreciatively and took the package, guessing aloud what it could be. "Is it a rock?"

Ezio rolled his eyes.

Altair gave it a little shake, hearing something rattle lightly against the confines of the box. "A dried fish?"

"Dried fish…" Ezio snorted; "Does it smell like a dried fish?"

Altair sniffed the box exaggeratedly.

Ezio let out a little noise of outrage and tried to snatch the package back. "OPEN IT ALREADY! HERE! I'll help you!"

Altair held it playfully out of his reach and when the younger man leaned over him reaching for it he offered a quick press of lips as an apology and waited until Ezio had settled himself—decidedly closer this time—before he brought the package back to his lap.

He pulled each string murderously slow, watching the excited tension building in Ezio's frame like a tidal wave. Or a volcano… From how red in the face he was turning a volcano seemed more appropriate.

He laughed quietly when Ezio looked ready to choke him and his own anticipation got the best of his playfulness and he pulled the paper open and lifted off the box lid.

He saw the T-shirt first… Black with red writing and some weird looking yellow fractle, but what his senses were overloaded with first was the smell. An antique, natural smell underlined with something salty like the sea.

It was an ancient smell and it seemed to overwhelm him for a moment and when he glanced to the side he recognized the dilated appearance of Ezio's eyes and the almost feverish grin on his face.

This smell did the same thing to Ezio that the thrum of the earth in theMiddle Easthad done to Altair. This was something special and secret and just for them and Altair just sat there and enjoyed it for a few minutes before he turned his attention back to the contents of the box.

He pulled the shirt out first, wanting to laugh and stare and ask just what the fuck it was because it was awesome. "Diabolical Cows?" He tilted his head to the side staring at the yellow fractle… It did, on some level look like cows… maybe. "Corn Fed Anarchy." He cackled.

"Aparently it was a local band in the early nineties… The guy who owned this antique's store we went into was wearing one like it—But go on! There's more." He pawed eagerly at the PI's shoulder.

Altair rolled his eyes and looked down into the box again, feeling a wild sense of glee when he saw a strange looking old book with faded gold writing in rather extravagantly ornate Arabic across the front cover.

Ezio hunched forward and rubbed his ankles; "It's poetry… I don't know if you like poetry, but I thought it was different. All the other books were in Italian."

"I wrote really dumb stuff in high school…" Altair wanted to whisper it because he still felt somewhat ashamed of admitting it; "'Went through this phase where I thought everybody was stupid and I was—was like god's gift or something… I was really pretentious when I was younger… Still am on occasion." He chuckled and paged wistfully through the book. "I had an overexagerated sense of self worth as Hadiya put it."

"You wrote poetry?"

"If you consider rhymimg 'duck' 'luck' and 'hocky puck' together amid insults and profanity POETRY, then yeah, I wrote poetry."

Ezio snorted; "I wrote a poem once for school… It was crap… I knew it was crap when I wrote it. I just wanted to get out of the assignment."

"That's the difference… I thought mine was awesome. Thought I'd be famous for it." A sigh, "Rose scented shit—" He said, "Is still shit." He put the book carefully aside and drew Ezio close with one arm, fitting his brow into the hollow of the younger man's throat. "Thank you."

"You like it?"

"Yes, I like it." He hummed thoughtfully; "Though I don't think it's very fair actually… I didn't get you anything for your birthday."

Ezio rocked backward a little and stared down at him in disbelief.

Altair didn't really understand at first and he leaned back himself, brows scrunched in confusion.

"Altair… You held a phone to my ear on my birthday and I heard the voices of my family for the first time in a decade. You… you gave me the best present anybody could ever get. Don't make this a competition… I'm very competitive and I know I wouldn't win. That's a dangerous mix… I could—could spontaneously grow breasts, wings and give birth to a dozen of your children, right here, right now, and none of it would compare to what you gave me…"

Altair kept a very straight face; "You'd have my crazy mpreg-babies?"

Ezio remained still for all of six seconds, then burst out laughing, wrapping his arms around the PI's neck he could do nothing more than shake his head and chuckle.

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_Altair and Ezio's last lines were prompted by Hubby Dearest again. Sorry. No, this story will not include mpreg. Altair is just a fanboy. *derp* Fareeq—If she reads this at all— is probably snorting with laughter because she knows where Hubby Dearest spouted that line… *faints*_

_I'm actually a med student, and Hubby's a Graphic Designer, but Hubby and I took Second Jobs at the Wal-Mart to make ends meet. =3= Wal-Mart doesn't like the yaoi RPs very much._

_PS… Hubby Dearest actually designed the T-shirt Ezio gave Altair up there as a class project. I sleep in it every night._

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	70. Chapter 70

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**Chapter 70; Steps Forward**

It was the strangest thing, Giovanni decided. Sitting there wearing a goddamned paper hospital smock and nothing else, about to be wheeled back to have a tube run down his throat and his insides inspected like so much fresh veal. And of all of that, the one thing that bothered him was the fact he would have to take off his wedding ring.

Maria was grinning at him in that sly indulgent way of hers. "You are being very dramatic over this, 'Vanni. It's not going anywhere… I'll have it right here until you're awake." She indicated the chain around her neck where her Saint Frances medallion was.

He pouted and narrowed his eyes at his hand. Why it was so difficult to pull the ring off was a mystery. It wasn't physically impossible. He'd lost weight recently so the ring could slip on and off with very little effort, it was the principle of the thing. He hadn't taken his ring off since Maria had slipped it onto his finger at their wedding. He hadn't even taken it off when he'd been in that car accident years ago. Of course, he'd threatened to castrate the EMT that had tried to pull it off, so that might have saved him then…

Now though?

Giovanni Auditore had never undergone a 'procedure' before. He'd never had an operation, never had surgery. It was a frightening and invasive concept that made his already aching stomach ache all the more.

"But I don't want to."

"'Vanni… It's either take it off now and let me keep it safe, or let the doctors cut it off later when your hands swell."

The thought of having that simple, innocent circle of gold cut and ruined made the decision clear and with what looked like a great amount of mental and emotional difficulty he pulled the ring off and stared at it in the flat of his palm mournfully for thirty seconds before he handed it over.

Maria placed a quick kiss to his brow; "There's a good boy." She combed his hair with her fingers and rubbed the lipstick from his forehead with the wetted end of her thumb. "We'll be right here when you get out."

He nodded and slouched back in his bed, pouting more than ever.

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It was the waiting that was painful… sitting there watching mind numbing children's shows on the OR waiting room's only TV, Claudia to his left, Altair to his right and Petruccio sitting across from him with a book open on his lap, making quick sure notes in small script in the margins.

Mama was pacing…

Ezio watched her, his senses open, taking in everything and he felt horrified by the worry rolling off of his mother.

He'd seen her upset before, seen her worried… but never like this. And as much help as he thought Altair would be, the older man kept shifting uncomfortably in his seat, sweat beading on his pale brow.

He knew Altair had confessed to being terrified of hospitals before. He just never knew it was this bad… It hadn't been this bad when Desmond had been hospitalized. Altair had looked uncomfortable, but not like he wanted to be sick.

Three times already Altair tilted his head back, breathing slowly and deeply through his mouth, swallowing quickly, repeatedly. It was unnatural and unsettling, but Ezio couldn't really focus on it. His mother's anxiety was eating away at his last nerve.

He swore, when this was over, he was crawling into the PI's bed and not leaving it for a week.

The clock slowly, ceaselessly ticked past another hour.

"It shouldn't be taking this long…" Maria said suddenly. "Something's wrong… I can feel it."

"Nothing's wrong, Mama…" Claudia said, although her expression was equally worried. "Maybe they just decided to do his colonoscopy and save him another trip."

Maria paled. "What if it's cancer…" Her hands came up, scraping at her hair. "I—What do I do if it's cancer."

"Mama—MAMA. Calm down." Claudia swallowed before she spoke again. "Don't worry. Nothing will happen. He's fine. If something was wrong the Doctor would have come out to talk to you by now." She took a slow breath and climbed to her feet, catching her mother's arm.

Twenty minutes more of watching the pacing and nail biting and Claudia had had enough.

"Come on, we'll go get coffee. Petruccio will wait here for news. Won't you Petruccio." She gave her little brother a hard glare and he nodded at them, deciding it was best to put his book away for now.

"Come on, Ezio." Claudia nudged his knee with her own and tilted her head emphatically toward the hallway.

Ezio shook his head; "I think I'll wait here…" He turned to Altair. "You can go if you want. You look like you could use some coffee and fresh air." He leaned from under Altair's arm and watched as the PI gave a slow nod and climbed stiffly to his feet.

They disappeared down the hallway and Ezio was left sitting there across from his brother.

Petruccio smiled and gave an amicable little wave; "Hi."

Ezio couldn't help but smile; "Hi… Nice hickey, by the way."

Petruccio smiled wider still, practically beaming.

"And this is new… Last time you tried to hide it, what's different?"

"Claudia's not here."

Ezio snorted and gave his head a shake.

Petruccio was quiet for a few more minutes, then climbed to his feet, gathered his things and took the chair their sister had vacated. "Can I ask you something?"

"You just did."

His eyes rolled; "Fine, may I ask you a few things?"

He nodded; "About what?"

He hesitated, his face turning quite pink, lips twisting as if trying to form words, then with a whoosh of breath he just said it; "Elizabethhas a vibrator."

It was Ezio's turn to blush.

"A… a big one." He looked off to the side, his voice dropping to barely a whisper. "Bigger than me…"

"And?"

"AND… w-what if I don't… what if I'm not—not good enough."

"You two are going to…" He made a rolling motion with his hand, deciding like with his father, it would be best not to look at one another, despite the fact Petruccio kept trying to make eye contact. It was like the kid didn't know better… Maybe he didn't.

"She wants to… And I… well It's not that I DON'T want to, it's just that… I don't really know what I'm doning, see?"

"Clearly." Ezio shifted uncomfortably. "Maybe you should talk to her about this."

"And what would I say? 'I'm intimidated by your Little Friend'?"

"M-maybe you should ask Altair… He actually has experience with things like that, I don't."

"You don't?"

He shook his head. "I can give you some general advice though… don't do it unless you're ready for it. Just because you want to isn't a good enough reason to do it. You—" He swallowed; "You can get one another off without having sex."

"Really?"

"If she's got that… that thing—I don't know… play with it w-with her or something. Sex is nice, but if all you're after is orgasm it's not worth it."

"I thought sex was about love—"

"It is, I just… I'm just really not comfortable talking about this with my baby brother."

Petruccio snorted; "Then just say so…" He slouched and crossed his arms over his chest. "At least you didn't give me that whole 'flower and the bee' bullshit like Federico did…" He pulled his book back out and opened it. "He's really good about saying a lot without actually saying anything at all."

"That's why he's becoming a lawyer." Ezio slouched in his seat and rubbed at his face, noticing only five minutes had passed. Dear God, how time crawled—

They sat there for a while longer, long enough that Petruccio looked up and asked where Mama and Claudia and Altair were, that he didn't know it took so long to get coffee.

And then there was a doctor… Still in his surgical scrubs, paper booties on his feet twisting his cap in his hands.

There was a crease on his brow, one of those creases like from the TV shows Claudia liked so much. One of those lines that said he was struggling with the words he was about to say.

Ezio felt it like a punch to the gut when the doctor's eyes landed on him and he started over.

Petruccio's book slid from his lap and hit the floor spine up.

"Auditores?"

Ezio nodded, gripping the arms of his chair as if his life depended on it. "Is… is my dad OK?"

In his head he could already hear the doctor's words. Horrible news, pain and suffering and loss and he felt like he was about to throw up everything he'd ever eaten.

The doctor twisted his cap again; "Oh, yes… Everything went well. He's out of surgery. A little loopy from the medication still, but that should wear off soon enough."

Ezio's head rang; "He's OK?"

"Yes, he's fine… We actually know what we're up against now, and it's very easy to repair."

"W-what's wrong with him? When can we see him?"

The doctor tugged out the seat Altair had been in and sat, bent forward with his elbows on his knees. "Your father has an aneurism in the lining of his stomach. Painful, but easily treatable now that we know what's really wrong."

"So he's not dieing?"

"No." The doctor scoffed. "In fact I wish I was in as good of shape as he is. The only problem is the aneurism. It's obviously been there for a long time considering how many years he's been displaying symptoms. We're going to keep him here for a few days, then go back in laproscopically around the first of the week and remove the aneurism… He should be back to his old self in a few weeks."

Ezio leaned back in his seat in relief, silvery specks dancing in the edges of his vision.

"But that's not the reason I came over here."

Ezio blinked at him stupidly.

"I found your mother in the cafeteria a little bit ago and told her the good news… But the gentleman you were with earlier?"

He nodded.

"He was just admitted into the ER."

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How it happened, Altair wasn't sure, wasn't really sure he _wanted_ to know. Maybe it was fate, or some big cosmic joke. But somehow or another, when he woke up the man in the bed across from him looked ready to bite his face off.

"Are you awake now?"

The words were slurred, not quite right, no doubt the _Paterfamilias Audtitore_ was still suffering from a sore throat and upset stomach.

Altair wondered if this was what Hell felt like. "Huh?"

"Good!"

Giovanni sounded quite pleased, and smiled brightly… Just half a second before he snatched something off his bedside table and threw it right at Altair's head.

The tapestry of obscenities the older man wove in the next fifteen seconds covered Altair like a death shroud and he shrank back in his bed, rubbing what he dearly hoped was only water and not the contents of a bedpan from his face.

Giovanni had levered himself up and was fighting with his IVs tugging at his blankets and— What the fuck? Is this a _catheter!_ I demand to see the _dottore!_ Get this fucking tube out—

And there was a dark streak in through the door, cooing gently, patting each of her husband's flushed cheeks and begging in babbled, infantile Italian that he please, please relax. He'd just had surgery, please lie down and let her worry about it.

Altair remembered reading somewhere that music soothes the savage beast, and sure enough Giovanni relaxed—though begrudgingly—back into his hospital bed and Altair was left staring stupidly up at Maria Audtiore. A stone fox of a woman who looked just enough like Ezio to make Altair cringe and think—_Dear God now I know where he gets it!_ As he hid his face in the pillows.

"I hope you are very pleased with yourself… He nearly went into hysterics."

Altair mumbled lamely; "What happened?"

"What happened?_ Dio Mio…"_ She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, rubbing at a thin wrinkle on her brow; "I can't handle this… Giovanni, if you can get out of that bed I give you permission to break this _bastardo's_ spine!"

Giovanni obviously couldn't because he was still peering under his blankets and whining about that TUBE. Oh, he felt so very _violated…_

Maria growled and turned back around, leveling a finger in Altair's face; "If you feel sick you say something. You don't creep off like that… Ezio was scared to death. He didn't know what was happening. _I_ didn't know what was happening. NOBODY knew what was happening, only that you were suddenly on a gurney."

"'was just a stomach ache." He rubbed his face. "Where is Ezio?"

"In the waiting room… Though I don't think you deserve to see him!"

A doctor did come in then, flanked by two brutish looking orderlies and a flighty, waspish looking nurse in Tweety-Bird patterned scrubs. "Is everything alright?" He crossed his arms high over his chest and eyed the three people in the room with a critical scowl.

And everybody started talking at once.

Giovanni's voice was high pitched, terrified, motioning at his crotch. Maria was making chopping motions with her hand at Altair and chattering excitedly in Italian, and Altair had a hand to his head saying he didn't know what the hell was going on and could someone please tell him why he was in a frickin' hospital bed?

The doctor's shoulders sagged and his eyes opened wider, trying to collectively follow each of their concerns… it proved very difficult. "All—alright, one at a time, PLEASE!" He held up his palms in what he hoped was a nonthreatening manner and with a breath for strength turned and addressed Giovanni.

"That will be removed in the morning, Sir. It was necessary during your procedure." He turned to Maria and took a deep breath, his mouth opened… but no sound came out. He tried again, gave his head a shake and started over; "What was it you were wanting, Ma'am?"

She smiled sweetly and motioned to Altair with the flat of her palm. "I would like to have this piece of shit's testicles on a silver platter. But that, I fear, is unrealistic. My son would never forgive me."

The doctor looked faintly frightened by her mere presence after that. He turned quickly to Altair, cleared his throat and held out his hand to the throng behind him.

The nurse sat a file between his fingers and scurried back.

The doctor tried twice to pronounce his name, shook his head and decided addressing the man directly wasn't needed; "You were admitted at ten-forty-seven this morning for abdominal pain, fever and vomiting…" He flipped back and forth through Altair's chart and lifted his gaze to meet the PI's. "Congratulations, you have a rather spectacular bowel obstruction and an inflamed appendix." He glanced back and forth between the two men and tried to avoid Maria's eyedaggers at all costs. "You two will be here for a few days so I advize you to at least pretend to get along while you're in my hospital… I'd hate to have to separate you, seeing as how we don't have any free rooms on this ward one of you would be sent down toOBand Delivery, and I dare say birthing women are far less tolerant than we are here."

Giovanni paled and in his head remembered each time his wife had gone into labor. Maria may look gentle and unassuming, but she had a mean streak a mile wide when she was in distress. The bones in his right hand never had healed right after being fractured so many times in her dainty little fist.

Giovanni decided he would much rather face down Lorenzo after he'd demolished another car than a woman in labor ever again.

The doctor glanced around at them; "Any questions?"

Nobody moved, save Altair scratching at his neck and fingering the TV shunt in the back of his hand.

Maria made a harrumphing sound in her throat and crossed the room, yanking a chair to the far side of her husband's bed and plopping down into it. Giovanni patted her hand comfortingly and pulled his blankets higher across his chest.

The doctor gave a nod to his entourage and the orderlies quietly exited the room. He strode over to Altair's side and pulled the curtain around, to form a symblance of privacy, although a thin piece of cotton and polyester did very little to muffle voices.

The doctor went on to ask, as politely and clincically as he could if anal penetration was common for him. He went on to advise possibly 'cleaning yourself out' beforehand, because what it looked like he'd been doing had caused an obstruction that very nearly ruptured his colon.

"We have to wait until things have… have moved before we can operate."

"Operate?"

"This caused acute appendecitus. It's already abscessed to the point perforation is imminent; it's just a waiting game. If it ruptures before things have moved you could wind up with a very serious, possibly lethal infection."

"H-how long will it take?"

"It depends on how quickly your bowels move."

Altair snorted; "Bring me a couple burritos and a diet Pepsi and we'll be done here before six!"

Someone on the other side of the curtain giggled.

The doctor scowled. "You're going to be here a while, Mr. Ahad—" He said it 'A had.' And Altair felt his cheeks puffing out indignantly.

"—Assuming everything moves smoothly—"

Giovanni giggled like a little girl… Altair would never be able to look him in the eye again.

"—The very earliest you'll be released is Thursday."

Altair's ears hummed and his eyes widened. "Thursday? I—I can't be here until Thursday. I have to—I have… I have a _thing_ on Sunday."

"Well, I guess you'll have to call and reschedule, because until your bowels are free and that appendix is out you're not going anywhere."

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_OZ be EVUL today._

_*is shot*_

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	71. Chapter 71

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**Chapter 71; Firefly **

Ezio came into the room with his sister and younger brother a few minutes later. Altair had his eyes closed at the time so he just feigned sleep and let the family have a few moments together behind the 'privacy' of that thin curtain.

He tried not to listen to what was said, but it was kind of hard not to, and quoting lyrics in his head was no help whatsoever, whatever medication he'd been given made thinking next to impossible, and all he was aware of was that uncomfortable pressure in his middle and the black hole like thought that he'd made Ezio hysterical. Just the whisper of it in his head sucked everything else away and he found himself laying there staring up at the ceiling listening to the Auditores talking on the other side of that stupid flimsy curtain and wishing Ezio would come over and talk to him so he didn't keep feeling like his fucking little finger…

Damn it all…

Why did this have to happen? It couldn't be happening. He HAD to go with Ezio on Sunday to make sure The Old Man didn't do something like he had last time, to make sure Ezio was protected properly. Altair would kick some serious ass if someone messed with the man he loved. He told himself in that sassy little finger snapping voice that sometimes flooded his internal monologue that the Princess would be Queen Bitch if someone hurt Ezio.

Then he grinned stupidly to himself because sometimes it was just so goddamned funny to turn a cliché on its ear. He supposed Ezio understood, the younger man letting his sister trim and style his hair… and obviously tweeze his brows from how neatly defined they had been when Altair had seen him the night before.

God, it was so funny.

Why was everything so funny?

"Papa, wh—why is he laughing like that?" Ezio had pulled the curtain and was scrutinizing the PI with a concerned expression on his face.

Giovanni yawned and rubbed his throat; "They gave him something a minute ago. I don't know what it was."

Ezio cocked an eyebrow and scowled; "Is it even worth trying to talk to him, or is he just going to keep laughing and saying h-he's a… a pretty little princess?" Ezio felt himself blushing.

Petruccio was on his tiptoes, peering across the room with a wrinkle of amusement on his nose; "Can I record it to show Eli?"

Ezio glared over his shoulder; "I'd rather you didn't…" Then as an afterthought, brows crooking upward, a devious curl to his lips; "You know what? Yes, be my guest!"

Petruccio already had his phone out.

Maria bowed her face into her palm; "_Ah, Dio Mio_… Ezio, make him be quiet." She tried to smother her own laughter. "The poor man doesn't know what he's doing. He will be so humiliated if he finds out."

Claudia was tittering into her palm, "But Mama, its funny… Well, the spit bubbles aren't funny, but you get the idea."

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Malik liked to think of himself as a patient man… That, however, didn't make him one.

He could be patient when he wanted to be, or when it suited him. But the majority of the time he was very impatient.

Especially when it came to Altair.

"You've what?" The bored tone of his voice was anything but bored. Disbelieving maybe, irritated, but not bored.

"I seem to have found myself in the hospital." His voice had a slightly slurred, dreamy quality to it.

"Are you drunk?"

"No." Was that disappointment in his voice now?

"Did you happen to step off the curb and break your big toe again?"

"Oh, that is so funny. You just—just kill me, Mal. Thank you for brightening my day."

Malik pinned the phone between his ear and shoulder and rubbed at his eyes. "Fine. What happened?"

"Apparently my appendix is getting ready to bust."

"BURST… Bust is a statue. Or if that doesn't suit you, rupture works just as—" Malik's eyes popped open and his voice caught in his throat; "What?"

"I'm severely constipated and my appendix is about to bust—"

Malik was completely motionless, completely silent for all of thirteen seconds… And then he let loose with the loudest, most thoroughly amused round of guffaws Altair had ever heard.

He felt himself giggling as well, although he couldn't for the life of himself remember why.

"You—you're—you're joking!" Malik finally got his laughter toned down to the odd, high pitched chuckle; "That—that's not funny Altair. This is a prank call isn't it? Of all the times you've prank called me, I have to admit this one's the funniest."

"Why would I prank call you and say I'm in the hospital?"

Malik's voice settled; "Oh… oh, you're serious… Y-you mean you're legitimately sick? Y-you're actually in the hospital?"

Altair grinned into the phone; "I'm on morphine."

Malik's little sigh sounded completely disapproving.

"Malik?"

"What?"

"You're too uptight."

"Altair." He growled it warningly, but that didn't stop what he could feel in his bones was coming.

"You need to jerk off more. You're too stressed."

"Altair, the only comfort I take in this is that you won't remember a bit of it later and I can pretend it never happened." Then a sigh; "Do you need anything?"

Altair whined; "I need a Diet Pepsi… Diet Pepsi always gives me the shits…"

"Altair, can we please leave the processes of your digestive system out of this? Your current medical emergency not withstanding… Just tell me what you need from your room."

"Underwear… They—they took the ones I was wearing… I don't know what they did with them. What did Hadiya make for breakfast? Will you bring me some of that?"

"Altair, I think given the circumstances, more food is the last thing you need."

A voice came over the phone, distant as if calling out loudly from the other side of the room.

"Malik, my sister is going to drive me over in a bit, I'll get what he needs."

Altair hummed; "Yeah… Okay, I need you to let Ezio in when he gets there… And I want my laptop… And some headphones." He sighed; "I'm gonna be here 'til Thursday at least so something entertaining. Gadil told me you had kung-fu movies, can I have a couple of those?"

Malik's voice rose indignantly; "What are you talking about! NO! You—You just—NO!" And he slammed the phone down.

A few seconds later Altair's phone rang and he blinked stupidly at it before answering. "You hung up on me… Why'd you—"

"Just shut up." Malik sounded positively livid. "What do I do about your work?"

"Tell anyone who shows up that I'm on vacation."

"Alright—"

"Unless it looks urgent, then—fuck I don't know, call Desmond… You know what, call Desmond anyway. He's sulked long enough." He grumbled for a few seconds at himself through the morphine haze; "Get my mail too, don't leave it sitting in the box down there, it really pisses me off when you do that… Why do you leave it sitting down there when you've obviously gotten your own? It's not very nice. I get yours for you when I go down there… If I get any packages, you and Hadiya can have them, I'm done… no more."

"What did I tell you about your unnatural mating practices!" He snarled; "And why, suddenly, are you so repulsed by those damned things?"

"Because they're why I'm in this condition."

"Do I really want to know?"

"I'm not saying it over the phone, so you'll just have to wait to laugh at my misfortune until I get home."

"I shall conserve my energy just for that then." A pause; "Are they going to remove it?"

"Remove what? My dick?" He cupped himself through the sheets; "Jesus, I hope not. I kind of need it—"

"Your appendix, you fat idiot!"

"Oh…" He thought for a moment, it looked like it took a great amount of effort. "Yeah… I'm not lookin' forward to it…" He lowered his voice to a hiss, "Ezio'll freak out, so don't say anything to him. Is he there yet?"

"I already know, and I'm right here, Altair." That quiet voice called again.

Malik was quiet for a few moments and then; "Do you want me to call your parents?"

"No."

"Are they doing the surgery this evening?"

"No… Probably Monday if I can take a big enough dump." He whined; "It's the stupid Sock's fault… God, I hate socks."

"What was that?"

"I have to go… There's Doctors here…now… and they have stuff."

"Did you just say what I think you said?"

The phone went dead and Malik sat there blinking for a few minutes. He put it back in its cradle and after a second shook his head. "Socks?" He shook his head again and blinked rapidly trying to dispel the disturbing mental images the thought brought into life. "I really don't think I want to know."

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Giovanni decided he loved Jello. Lime, peach, lemon, orange. He loved it.

Maria chuckled; "Slow down, this is what, your ninth cup?"

"I'm hungry… The Devil I married wouldn't let me eat all week, what do you expect?" He inhaled the last little jiggling cube and reached for another cup in a rainbow assortment the nurse had brought him.

Maria rolled her eyes and was able to pry his left hand away long enough to press her lips to the tips of all five fingers before she slid his wedding ring back on. And since their children weren't in the room, let her lips and tongue indulge themselves around his index finger.

Giovanni stopped eating and stared at her through his lashes… Then gnashed his teeth and pulled his hands back quickly to cover his crotch through the blankets, his breath coming out in something like a whimper and a snarl mashed together.

Maria covered her mouth and giggled, even though it wasn't funny… it was still funny. "Oh, you poor thing."

He grumbled in a high pitched voice about how he was suing the fucking hospital for this! Oh, it was INHUMAN!

That just made Maria giggle all the more.

"You are a witch."

She grinned wider still, eyes just dark sparkles through her lashes; "And I have you under my spell, am I right? Isn't that what you said before?"

"Yes." It came out between his teeth and even though he was in pain and angry that his wife was laughing at him there was something undeniably sexy about how she looked at him, how she teased with those rose petal lips of hers.

"Ah, Mi Amore… Mi dispiace…" She leaned close and her words breathed softly across his ear; "I'll make it up to you… I swear it."

He turned his chin upward and their mouths brushed and for some reason the jello he'd eaten tasted like wine.

"Y-you really have no idea how painful this is."

"Do you want me to stop?"

He was quiet a moment, just enjoying her closeness and her kisses, eyebrows tipped upward in despair. On one hand he had a tube in a very uncomfortable place and it was becoming more and more uncomfortable by the moment, on the other he really did enjoy having private time with his wife…

Oh, the Hell of an impossible decision!

In the end the choice was made for them, as the doctor and nurse who had come and wheeled Altair and his bed out for a CT scan brought the man back in.

Altair did not look pleased at all, even less so when the nurse presented him with a thick grayish pink mixture in a big plastic cup.

At first it looked like the contrast dye used for scans of the stomach and GI tract. Giovanni was familiar with that, but the nurse said in a too sweet voice;

"This should help loosen your bowels. You just call if you feel an increase in pain or start having cramps, alright?" She put the cup in his hands and acted as though she were going to pat his head; "The CA will be around in a few minutes to get the cup." She approached the curtain and called out before she peeked behind it; "Everything going OK, Mr. Auditore? Can I get you anything?"

He ground his teeth, glad that table was still over his lap and forced a smile; "Yes. Everything's fine. Thank you though."

Maria smiled at her, lashes still lowered in a way that was totally unashamed of what she'd just been doing to her husband, and would most likely do again. She did love to torture him ever so much.

Ezio, Claudia and Petruccio came back a little while later, Ezio carrying a modest sized duffle bag packed with Altair's things, and the PI's backpack and computer.

Altair was only halfway through the gunk the nurse had given him, and he'd developed a green undertone to his complexion because every drop made his stomach feel intolerably full and the nausea was building steadily.

Ezio deposited the bags in the corner, crossed his arms and went to Altair's bedside with his brows raised and his lips pursed. It was a strange kind of expression, omnipotence mixed with rage, and he wore it well.

Altair looked up at him miserably.

"Malik told me to punch you."

"Did he?"

"Yes."

"Are you going to?"

"Maybe."

Altair nodded and his gaze went to the bump of his knees beneath the blankets; "I'm sorry I scared you."

Ezio didn't say anything, and Altair had the feeling it was because he didn't want to do anything incriminating in front of his family. Or maybe it was that he didn't want to let Altair know exactly how frightened he had been. He turned and pulled the curtain closed and when he spoke it was with a rather matter-of-fact tone and the way he crossed his arms and tilted his chin in the air reminded Altair of how his mother had made that same face not but a few hours ago when he'd regained consciousness.

_"I brought you some clothes."_

_"Thank you."_

_"Do you want to put some pants on, or are you enjoying that draft?"_

_"I don't really enjoy the draft much, no… Did you bring some sweats?"_

The way Ezio's eyebrows crooked upward innocently made Altair's blood run cold.

The abomination Ezio pulled from the duffle bag still had price tags on it and the younger man snapped them off before tossing them unceremoniously across Altair's head.

Altair slowly peeled them away and held them at arm's length. "You're kidding me…"

"No. I'm not."

"Ezio—"

"Altair." His expression was flat, and his eyes shone dangerously. "You thought it was a good idea to hide this from me for how long exactly?"

Altair let out his breath in a sigh and his lips pursed.

Ezio tilted his chin upward; _"So, considering everything. If I think you deserve it, you're gonna wear the fucking pink sweats, got it?" _

_"You're really pushy. You know that?"_ He let out a sigh and rubbed his face; _"Am I allowed to have underwear, or do you have a pair of lacy panties in there as well? 'Cause I'm not opposed to wearing them to be sexy, but I'm not so sure I want to be stuck in them feeling like this." _

_"Should have thought of that before hand." _

Altair whined and looked up with a pathetic expression on his face, but when Ezio dipped his hand back into the duffle what he pulled out wasn't lacy, nor was it panties. Just a pair of Altair's gray boxerbriefs with only a slight fray in the hem along the left thigh.

The most embarrassing thing though, was that he had a hard time dressing himself. The morphine, he kept telling himself it was the morphine, made him dizzy as hell and when he tried to stand up his legs kept trying to slid from under him, as if his ankles were attached to strings and someone was pulling them toward the ceiling.

Ezio grumbled and scowled and snorted, but did help him in the end and Altair remained silent, lips compressed because he could understand the younger man's actions. He was scared and hurt and didn't want to show it, so he put up this macho angry exterior and pretended he was just irritated… Malik did the same thing only louder. Altair thanked god that at least Ezio wasn't as bad as Malik.

"Ezio…" He said, easing himself back into the bed with his head pressed into the pillows.

"What."

"Thank you…"

Ezio bristled and his chin went up, but after a moment he sighed and leaned forward to wrap his arms around Altair, hissing into his hair so nobody else heard. "Don't do that again… You—you really don't know how bad you scared me." He swallowed with some difficulty; "I saw you on that stretcher and I-I remembered how sick Leo had been years ago and it… Altair, I can't lose you."

Altair gripped him tighter and felt his eyes begin to burn. There was a bubble growing in his chest and he had to grit his teeth to keep it in, had to hold his breath to keep it from hitching. "I'm not going anywhere… Ezio, I promise, I'm not going anywhere."

"You don't know that—" He hiccupped; "What if you get an infection like Leo had… what if y-you d-die?"

Altair pulled insistently and Ezio eased his hip onto the bed, balancing his body on the ten inch wide strip of mattress along Altair's left side that was unoccupied, pressing himself close with a silent desperation that brought tears to his eyes.

"The doctor said it could cause a fatal infection. I-I can't lose you… Why didn't you say something earlier?" His fingers tangled in the front of Altair's smock and he covered them with his own, pressing his lips to the other's forehead as he whispered reassurances.

"I'm not gonna die… It'll take a lot more than a ruptured appendix to kill me. I… I may be down for a while, but I'm not gonna let this kill me. I'll fight with everything I've got."

"You promise?"

"Yes, I promise…" When Ezio didn't reply, just rubbed his face on his chest Altair pulled him closer. "It's OK to be scared… hell, I'm scared too, but everything'll go just fine, I know it."

Ezio nodded but didn't move away so Altair just lay there and held him for a while, relieved the other Auditores didn't decide to push open the curtain and spy on them. If he ignored the quiet conversation from the other side of the room he could almost convince himself he and Ezio were alone.

"What are we gonna do about Sunday?" Ezio breathed.

Altair let his breath out in a whoosh and leaned his head back against the bed. "Don't worry about it. I've got a plan."

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_Hey all, sorry for the lack of updates. I hope you had a good holiday. As an apology, over the next few days I'm updating all of my ongoing stories and posting a new one._

_Here's a few awesome things going on;_

_1.) OZ now has a twitter account. I'm going to use it to alert everyone of when new chapters are up or if there's new art by Nameless or other friends. Check my profile for the link._

_2.) Hubby finally convinced me to make a Tumblr, and although I don't think many of you will be interested, I put all my useless crap on there XP again, link's on my profile._

_3.) Hubby Dearest is making a website for me for Fast Cars related art and stuff and there will be a link so you can listen to the soundtrack we've been working on. As soon as it's up and running I'll put the link up too!_

_4.) Coconuthero did a fantastic image of Altair wearing highheels! (Yes, sometime soon Altair puts on some pumps.) You guys have to go check it out and leave some reviews, I absolutely LOVE this picture. Link is on my profile!_

_And 5.) I'm trying to convince Hubby Dearest to make a account and post some of his Sherlock Holmes fics. So, I may need some help with that… He's so stubborn! =3=_

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	72. Chapter 72

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**Chapter 72; The Face of Fear**

Saturday morning Altair woke to a nurse poking him in the face with a thermometer. It must have been one of those; 'Body awake before the mind' moments he'd experienced before. Because the nurse was mid sentence and acted as if they'd been having a conversation.

"—to take you down to pre-op around seven. He wants to be sure you're right there when everything's moved enough to take you to surgery, or it ruptures."

Altair nodded, but didn't say anything around the metal probe.

The nurse left a few minutes later after she'd taken his blood pressure and drawn a little bit of blood to check his 'white counts'.

Giovanni had the TV turned on and was inhaling jello cubes rather noisily. The curtain was pushed back and Altair found himself casting discreet glances at Ezio's father from the corner of his eye. He didn't see Maria anywhere, or any of Giovanni's other children so he counted himself lucky and tried to be invisible.

Giovanni scraped his little plastic spoon around the cup for a few seconds without taking his eyes off the TV. "You talk in your sleep."

Altair's hands clenched in the blankets. "Oh?"

Giovanni nodded and hummed. "My wife does the same thing sometimes, so I slept through most of it… Just thought it was interesting."

Altair felt overwhelmingly uncomfortable. "Are… Is anybody else here?"

The older man shook his head; "Ezio is studying for his Pre-Test today with Maria… Federico may come to visit but I think everyone else has plans."

Altair nodded and tried to make himself more comfortable on the bed, the pressure in his middle had begun to shift a little and it felt almost painful. He supposed that disgusting crap the nurse had given him, coupled with that goo he'd been forced to drink for his scan the day before had finally begun to 'loosen him up' like the doctor had said.

_Never again… I don't care if it is embarrassing as hell, I'll march myself right down to the drug store and slap those boxes on the counter with a grin on my fucking face as long as I never have to go through this again!_

Giovanni was looking at him. "Are you alright? You've gone pale."

He nodded and drew his knees up a little further, crossing his arms on top of them and focusing on breathing. When he looked up again a few minutes later Giovanni was still staring a him, and the older man's expression was… well, Altair didn't know how to name it.

Giovanni's eyes were wide and mischievous his face was lightly pink and his lips had formed a pinched, suppressed grin. He glanced away as soon as Altair looked up at him and reached for another jello cup.

"So…" His voice cut through the air like a knife.

Altair flinched.

"You're having sex with Ezio?"

He swallowed and focused on his feet. "How long have you known?"

Giovanni shrugged; "Probably since the day I walked in on you."

Altair's eyes widened and his head snapped toward the other man. "What?"

Giovanni seemed unable to meet his gaze, maybe it was for the best; "While Ezio was staying with you… I—I came over one morning to check on him. Malik let me in… You really should make sure your door is actually SHUT before you lock it, yes?" He only turned to look at the PI once he'd finished speaking. "It's nothing to be ashamed over… I know my son, if he'd been unwilling I don't—" He cleared his throat, face gone red; "I don't think he would have been on top of you like that."

Altair's mouth flapped soundlessly a few times and he found it perfectly impossible to blink.

Giovanni just grinned, cheeks dimpling and turned back to the TV, sucking down a few more jello cubes in silence.

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Altair was perfectly mortified the entire day. Giovanni seemed to enjoy it because every so often he would look over and GRIN…

Altair also learned that Giovanni was under the impression that his condition had been caused by frequent sex with Ezio, not Altair's desperate nightly sessions with his toy box. He decided letting the older man think that was less traumatic than saying; 'no, I just masturbate a lot'… He didn't sound like so much of a freak if he let Giovanni think Ezio topped him a lot.

Truthfully, he found himself fantasizing about it as the day went on, it was a nice distraction when he gave up and limped to the bathroom because of the unforgiving pressure in his abdomen.

It was not however a nice distraction when, while sitting there hunched over himself Giovanni politely opened the door and leaned his shoulder against the doorframe.

"Are you alright?"

Altair focused on the older man's feet and barked out an answer; "I'm fine."

"You've been in here for almost an hour… Should I call the nurse?"

"I'm fine." _Don't look at him, just—just don't look at him!_

"You look like you're trying to give birth."

Altair dropped his forehead to his knees, ignoring how sweaty his brow had become and the feverish shivers running up and down his body. "Yeah…" His voice shook.

"Maybe you shouldn't let my son at you so much… it—it may feel good at the time, but don't you think this is, well… uncomfortable?"

"Understatement of the year, Mr. Auditore…" He rubbed sweat from his face and tried to focus on his breathing.

Giovanni chuckled lightly, amused; "Ah, it could be worse."

"How?" He felt exasperated, as well as humiliated that Ezio's father was standing there in the door watching him.

"You really could be giving birth."

Altair bowed his head again. He didn't have the strength to reply.

Giovanni left him alone shortly after that and when he emerged from the bathroom holding his stomach, he tried not to meet the other man's eyes, but it was hard to do.

"So," Giovanni said, lacing his hands behind his head, grinning like the devil himself; "How did it go?"

Altair didn't look at him; "'feel ten pounds lighter."

It seemed that Giovanni found bathroom humor amusing because he chuckled under his breath and crossed his ankles, scratching his heel on the soft material of his pants.

Altair eyed the suitcase of clothes leaned into Giovanni's corner with a jealous eye, then those hideous pink sweats on his own legs. He felt his masculinity falling by inches every minute.

And then the most extraordinary thing happened.

The door popped open and a familiar head poked into the room.

"Did you know the nameplate on the door here has you listed as; 'A. Hayes'?" Malik blinked stupidly at him and came into the room as if he owned the place.

Altair bristled. "What? W-what the hell are you doing here?"

Malik motioned innocently to the small overnight bag he'd slung over his shoulder and spoke in a tone that said he didn't particularly give a shit what Altair thought. "Ezio asked me to come and check on you, and since he's watching the shop for me tomorrow so Hadiya can rest, I think it's only fair."

Altair wanted to mention the fact that Malik was paying Ezio, but could tell simply by looking at the older man that Malik could very well be here of his own choice and was just using Ezio as an excuse so he didn't look like he actually cared.

It was a good ruse, Altair had to give him that at least. So he didn't argue.

Malik though, seemed more interested in talking to Giovanni than playing nurse over Altair. It seemed Ezio's father and Malik got a long quite well and shared an interest in college sports and obscure literature.

Saturday slipped by at an agonizing pace.

Altair slept and had his computer open on his lap, trying to no avail to get Desmond to answer his instant messages. Shaun though, did answer and supplied notes to the PI on their activities.

There wasn't much progress, but they'd been doing a lot of legwork and Shaun promised that he would goad and force Desmond to go into the office on Monday to take care of the things that had backed up in Altair's absence.

Altair decided he liked Shaun. Shaun was one of those people who kept his personal life separate from his work life, and when he said he would do something he damned well did it. Altair wanted to think it was the whole Stereotypical British Mindset, but it didn't quite fit. Shaun was too passionate about some things for it to simply be what Altair assumed was his dedicated and reserved upbringing.

A nurse came around not long later and gave Altair what he assumed was another dose of pain medication, whatever it was knocked him out for a while, when he woke up Malik was in the reclining chair to his left leaned back with his tiny computer on his lap and his glasses perched on the end of his nose. He was typing quickly, his lips compressed and his eyes intent.

Altair shifted his head against the pillow and glanced over at Giovanni who was sprawled out in a doze with the lights on his side of the room turned off.

Altair rolled back over and regarded Malik with squinted eyes; "What time is it?"

"Half past three. You were asleep all afternoon." He leaned back and flexed his hand. When Altair started levering himself stiffly upward, eyes locked on the bathroom door Malik shifted the chair back into its upright position; "Do you need help?"

Altair snorted and took a minute to untangle his IV from the sheets before he limped to the toilet and shut the door.

Malik watched the IV tube shift under the door for a moment, and since there were no screams or thuds of a body hitting the floor, returned to his work.

Fifteen minutes later Altair was still in there.

Twenty after that even, he was still quiet.

Malik wasn't one to deny a man private time on the toilet, he'd had a bathroom put in down stairs in his shop just for that reason. There were far too few luxuries in life a man was allowed without paying for them. He had a philosophy on the subject. There was very little better than the right atmosphere and location to satisfactorily ease your bowels. It wasn't something you could do just anywhere with anybody around. At least not for him anyway, so he waited patiently as he could for Altair to emerge.

Only Altair didn't.

An hour and twelve minutes after he'd gone in he finally came out, leaning against the wall as if all his strength had bled out with his arms around his stomach. He was very pale and his hair was clinging to his face and neck in wet tendrils.

"You look like shit."

Altair scowled.

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Malik left the next morning after he'd had a customary hospital breakfast of powdered eggs gravy and turkey bacon drizzled with maple syrup, and sprinkled with a package of skittles he'd gotten from the vending machine down the hall.

Altair who had felt nauseous since the night before, hid in the bathroom until the older man was finished eating.

The doctor came in shortly afterward and poked and prodded and smashed down on his stomach for a while and Altair had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out. More blood was drawn for 'white count' checks, and the doctor latched the railing in place on either side of him, effectively locking him in the bed.

"The pain has gotten worse, hasn't it."

Altair offered a friendly snarl in return a the doctor's cold hands kept wiggling around on his stomach.

"We'll monitor your temperature and blood pressure closely. I also need another ultrasound to see how far the obstruction has moved. If it's shifted far enough we'll take you into surgery immediately."

Altair just kept sneering at him, and as soon as the doctor had left stiffly reached for his laptop and propped it open on his lap.

Neither Shaun nor Desmond were online so with a snap he closed it again and clawed through the bedside drawer for his cell phone. Cursing at it when he couldn't get it to do what he wanted it to. He missed his little Nokia. It hadn't been so goddamned complicated. On off, call hangup, numbers, alarm. That's it. No fuss.

This thing was… too complicated.

"Fuck!"

How had Desmond gotten to that stupid GPS thing?

Somehow he managed to find the app and initialize it and soon there was a little map on the screen with colored dots on it.

Malik's little colored dot was going down the street on his way home. Hadiya's was still hovering over the print shop. Ezio's was across town at his house, and the two blips that were Shaun and Desmond were together in the middle of the street halfway across town. A few moments later they began moving… Altair assumed they were on the bus or in Shaun's car.

"Altair?"

He looked up.

Giovanni was sitting on his bed with a book open across his knee. "What are you doing?"

"Nuthin'."

Altair put his phone away and curled around his stomach for a while unsettled by the throb of it. An orderly came in not long after that and collected him, bed and all.

The ultrasound tech was a very tall blonde woman. Altair was a little intimidated by how tall she was, she commented on his pink sweats and Altair grumbled bitterly under his breath while she scanned his stomach and e-mailed the images to his doctor.

As soon as he was back in his room there was a nurse taking his temperature, checking his blood pressure and fitting and oxygen cannula under his nose.

"Your temperature's up a little, but your blood pressure's still normal…" She said as she scratched the numbers down on his chart; "Your white blood cell count is also still elevated, even with the antibiotics you've been given."

"So what does that mean?"

She blinked; "It means you're going to have your appendix taken out. If the counts had begun falling the infection may have been cleared up and surgery may not have been necessary. But since they're still up…"

He nodded. Well shit…

Another slip of pain medication and Altair was out like a light. He woke up a few times feeling overwhelmingly nauseous and once had to grope for the plastic dish he'd been given that the nurses kept lined with paper towels and empty his stomach of what little water he'd been allowed to have.

He was getting worse, he could feel it. Could see it in the concern in Giovanni's eyes as well as at the increasing frequency at which the nurses came and went from his bedside.

_I can't do this… Not now. That damned sting is tonight I CAN'T leave Ezio there alone!_

The hours ticked by and at a quarter to six that evening Altair had become desperate. He snatched his phone back up and sent a text message to Shaun's phone, knowing Desmond wouldn't answer his texts no matter what the subject was.

_"Get to the hospital now! Bring Desmond, I need his help! Altair."_

Barely twenty minutes later the door opened and what came in made Altair entirely sure that he was hallucinating.

Shaun was standing there in a tight black t-shirt and a pair of baggy black pants with more pockets than were strictly necessary, straps and blaze orange piping in the seams. His shoes were similarly adorned and there were bands around his wrists like hospital bracelets but in different colors.

"What the hell are you wearing?" Altair squinted at him from amid his blankets.

Shaun's lips compressed and he turned almost purple, his hair sticking up in a strange fan like shape on top of his head. "None of your goddamned business!" He snorted; "You're the one who called me on my day off!"

Altair blinked rapidly, visibly affronted, but Shaun leaned out the door again and dragged someone inside by the sleeve of his jacket.

Desmond had his arms crossed high over his chest and looked anything but pleased to be there. Pouting like a four-year-old.

"Get in here and shut the door."

Shaun shoved Desmond forward and shut the door behind him.

"Pull the curtain."

Giovanni glanced over from his book with his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Altair lowered his voice to a hiss, praying Giovanni didn't hear him and forced himself up, scratching over the rail for the release and easing it down. "Des, get over here."

Desmond let out an impatient sigh but stepped forward, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the floor; "Listen, Altair… I'm so—"

"Take off your clothes."

Desmond's eyes widened in horror and his face went bright red. "What?"

Altair was pulling at his jacket; "Take off your fucking clothes, Des, I don't have time for this shit!"

Shaun was staring at them in horror; "What the hell are you doing!"

Altair sighed; "Ezio's going on a sting with my brother, and I don't trust him in the slightest… I promised him I'd be there, so I'm going."

"Why not just send me? I'll watch him."

"Because I promised him I would be there… And you're good at what you do, Des, I'll give you that, but you don't know Walker and the old man like I do. I've got such a sick feeling in my stomach about this, especially since the break in… I have to go." He levered himself to his feet and started stripping off the hospital smock and pushing at those ugly pink sweats. He managed to get them around his knees, but bending over further made his stomach scream so he had to lean his hip against the bed and work them off with his feet.

Desmond, reluctantly, had stripped down to his boxers and stood there shivering with his arms crossed over his chest; "Jesus-fucking-Christ it's cold in here."

The curtain clattered as it was jerked back and another person insinuated himself into the space dragging an IV pole along behind him.

Giovanni was practically foaming at the mouth, shaking in his anger and wagging a finger in Altair's face. He was speaking too quickly for Altair to really understand what was being said, but he understood what Giovanni was doing as he snatched Desmond's t-shirt up off the bed and shoved it rather violently over Altair's head. Growling and cursing as he grabbed the PI's wrist and disconnected the IV wire from the shunt in his hand, snagging a roll of tape from the shelf behind the door and securing it to Desmond's hand.

The transfer took less than a minute and Desmond was whining and grumbling as he hid himself under Altair's blankets making sure his left hand was tucked out of sight so nobody noticed he had all of his fingers, unlike Altair.

"You owe me." Desmond narrowed his eyes threateningly.

"I'll buy you dinner every night for a month." Altair grabbed both sides of the younger man's head and kissed his brow rather roughly because Desmond wouldn't hold still.

Giovanni pushed the curtain back into place and took a deep breath, sending Altair and Shaun a single understanding nod as they left.

Altair had never really been more glad that Desmond felt so inclined as to dress like him, or cut his hair the same or generally emulate him in everything he did.

The only problem was, Desmond was just a few inches shorter than he was and smaller around the waist, so the younger man's jeans just wouldn't button, especially around his extremely tender stomach. The shoes though, fit perfectly so there was no problem there.

It was still nerve-wracking however trying to sneak out without being noticed. He hadn't shaved in a few days, and Desmond although possessing a little scruff from a day's work, didn't have nearly as much facial hair as Altair did.

But somehow, despite his frazzled nerves they made it out and the parking garage air felt cold against his skin.

Shaun's car was parked about halfway down the length of the garage on the right side. He was still grumbling about the whole ordeal, that he'd better not get into trouble because of this. Dear God, if I get arrested for harboring a fugitive I'm suing you!

"I'll be back before they realize I'm gone." He settled himself into the passenger seat and reclined it, levering his right hip upward and contemplating whether or not he wanted to risk putting on the safety belt because he knew it wasn't going to feel too good.

In the end he did it anyway and fitted his hand between his side and the strap. It was only once they were out on the street again that Altair pulled out his phone and dialed Ezio's number.

"Altair?"

"Hey."

"Hey, how are you feeling?"

"Better… How are you?"

"Okay, I guess… I'm at the shop still, your brother's waiting for me to change."

"'kay… did he tell you where you're going?"

"Yeah… It's a hotel near the Midway Airport."

Altair swallowed thickly. "Okay… I'll… I'll meet you there."

"Altair, you're in the hospital—"

"No, actually I'm in a car. They—" He swallowed again, feeling a peculiar heat rising to his cheeks; "They let me out. My white blood cell count was back to normal, no need for surgery. So, I'll meet you there alright?"

"Altair…" He could hear someone knocking at the door over the phone; "Just a minute!" He turned back to the phone; "You know you talk really fast when you're lying."

Altair sighed and rubbed his brow.

"Just… just stay at the hospital, I'll be OK."

"Ezio—"

"I'll be okay, Altair… Stay there." And he hung up.

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	73. Chapter 73

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_Hey guys! New Chapters for you! And I need to brag a little, but Hubby and I have two cats; I caved and went and got PC's brother. So, Mac and PC caught and killed their first mouse today! And I know I'm gonna get someone thinking OMG POOR LITTLE DEFENSELESS MOUSE! But, where me and Hubby live mice and rats are a big problem. So I'm frickin LOVING that our cats can catch mice!_

_What I'm not loving so much, is the fact that they left the thing in my shoe… That I could have lived without._

_PS, I put links on my profile to some AWESOME ART Kiaraz did! I'm serious, I am IN LOVE with this stuff guys! Looking at it makes me do a little fangirl SQUEE!_

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**Chapter 73; Coward**

Altair was beyond nauseated by the time they made it through traffic to the hotel. His heart was in his throat and his stomach was in his mouth because it was the same goddamned hotel from years ago. The same hotel where that rat shit Borgia had hidden Desmond and Ezio.

The only bit of providence there was on the subject was that it wasn't the same room.

The man on the corner was familiar and Altair told Shaun to go around the block and park out of sight.

Chris was no stranger to undercover sting operations. Four years before he'd had the little toe on his right foot shot off during one. The fact that Chris was there sat off warning bells in Altair's head.

And the fact that two blocks over were two unmarked black vans that screamed in Altair's mind of being packed with armed officers in blacks and bullet proof vests.

"This isn't good."

Shaun was peering around nervously, his knuckles white on the steering wheel; "What's not good, what's going on?"

Altair let out a sigh, trying to swallow his stomach again as he explained carefully the police protocol during such a situation, as well as procedure for apprehending a perp if things went sour. A normal sting didn't involve so much armed backup. Perhaps half a dozen cops in the observation room.

If Chris was there that meant the Violent Crimes unit was involved… which meant that whoever they had put Ezio in that room with wasn't just someone they were after for information like Walker had made them believe. It meant that this person needed to be caught in the act of trying to seriously hurt someone to make charges stick… It meant, more than likely, that Ezio had not been properly informed.

"Fuck." Shaun didn't sound really upset, just annoyed and he hunched his shoulders over the wheel, grumbling as he turned the corner and found a well lit, but unobtrusive place to part his car.

Altair climbed out slowly one hand on his stomach, the other braced against the hood to keep himself upright. The nurse had given him pain medication hours ago, and it seemed without that steady slow drip of fluids, antibiotics and that non-narcotic in his arm the pain was starting to eat through the dull haze of old morphine.

He hadn't really realized until that moment how much pain he was in. Walking was torturous and they'd made it only eighty or so feet from be car before Altair doubled over with his arm braced against the rough brick of a store front and started dry heaving.

Shaun stayed back, his nose wrinkled up in disgust; "This wasn't a good idea… I thought you said you were feeling better. This doesn't look like 'feeling better' it looks to me like you're barely able to stay on—"

"Shut the fuck up, Shaun." He ground out, managing the words around the sour taste in his mouth. He coughed a few times and forced himself up again, breathing deeply. There, not so bad now. He motioned across the street at a clearer looking alleyway; "Shortcut."

Shaun snorted; "You expect me to walk down an alleyway in the middle of the night, when it's cold and I'm in rave gear… There could be thugs down there just salivating for fresh meat—"

"You could go wait in the car." He glanced over his shoulder with an innocent expression on his face.

Shaun's nose crinkled up like an agitated cat and he seemed to battle with himself, from the tips of his spiky hair to the orange ends of his shoes he shook.

Altair had a rather grotesque thought that maybe Shaun's head was going to pop off and go shooting off into orbit. He could just picture it up there spewing eloquent profanities into space.

"Altair are you even listening to me? You've gone all pale."

"No, I'm not listening… Are you done? Can we go now?" Altair lifted his brows expectantly.

Shaun steamed a little more with his cheeks puffed out indignantly, and crossed his arms high over his chest. "Christ… If I'm mauled by crusty weepy eyed goons I'm suing you!"

"You know, for someone who swears he can't stand the indolence of Americans, you've really got the 'do nothing sue sue sue' attitude down."

"Shut up. At least I'm not creeping out of hospitals when my insides are threatening to become my outsides."

"You're very argumentative."

"And you're very stupid!"

Altair chuckled; "Nice one."

"You're more fun to argue with than Desmond… He genuinely gets angry and goes faffing about in a rage." Shaun was bent forward a little, eyes darting around looking for those 'crusty weepy eyed goons' he'd talked about. "Has he never heard of sarcasm?"

"Sarcasm is wasted on Desmond… The only time he gets it is when he's sleep deprived or drunk."

Shaun snorted; "Maybe I should get him drunk more often."

Altair didn't reply to that, he had a sneaking suspicion Shaun had just let slip a little more than he'd wanted to. A desire to actually talk and laugh and argue with Desmond? Maybe he did actually want to be friends with him… Or more if you thought about how much Shaun teased and belittled him.

It was one of those 'you always hurt the one you love' moments and Altair nearly started laughing at it.

And then there was a person.

A person with a gun.

"Alright, don't move, stay right where you are!"

Shaun looked caught between throwing his hands up and begging not to be hit in the face, and hiking up the ridiculously wide legs of his trousers and running for it.

Altair's shoulders sagged and he let his breath out in a whoosh. "I know that voice…"

The woman, because despite the deep authoritative tone it was most definitely a woman, with the gun clicked on a Maglight and shined it in their eyes as she approached. Ten feet from them she lowered her gun arm and let out a relieved whoosh of breath; "Altair, you piece of shit. What the fuck are you doing here?"

Altair tried to draw himself up to full height and crossed his arms in a relaxed yet detached manner; "I could ask you the same thing."

The woman holstered her sidearm and spoke quickly into a tiny microphone she had pinned to her collar. Pressing her fingers into her right ear to hear the reply. "Tell the boss he's got company."

Altair couldn't hear the reply but he could feel the tension it put in Thorpe's shoulders.

"There's two of them," She hissed back then flicked her light from blinding Altair to blinding Shaun; "Who are you?"

Shaun lifted his fingers splayed outward to block the light but Thorpe knocked it aside with the butt of her light. He flinched at the impact and popped a bruised finger between his lips; "I work for him…" He grumbled 'miserable twat' under his breath and Thorpe's shoulders squared, drawing herself up to her full height she got in close to Shaun with her eyes wide and her voice raised threateningly.

"What was that, you little—"

"Easy, Thorpe, EASY!" A voice came from behind her and her HEAT packing partner jogged up, wedging a hand between them and pushing against her shoulder to pry them apart. "You don't need to be getting so agitated."

At one time Altair may have been thrilled to have that man and all his… attributes, so close to him, but now it wasn't as exciting. Yes, there was still that thrill of having a man his size with more… punch, so to speak, that near to him. But where before that punch would have been his sole focus, now it wasn't.

"Abe, I can take care of myself!" Thorpe tried to shoulder him away, which was laughable because she was a good ten inches shorter than him… It was like a small terrier jumping against the pull of a Doberman.

"Maria…" His voice was lowered, intimate, and something pulled at the back of Altair's mind. Thorpe had never displayed interest in her partner, had never really displayed sexual interest in anybody as far as he knew… But there was definitely something non-professional about that tone of voice.

Maria stilled and rocked back a step; "Fine." She jerked her chin; "Get outta my sight."

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The observation room was set up on the first floor. And from what Altair could tell when Walker dragged them in the room they were observing was at least two floors up. There were five men in the room, and a small bank of computers in the corner, and the tech specialist, a tall thin woman of asian descent was sitting on the bed with a computer on her lap and her left leg propped up on some pillows.

Upon closer inspection Altair recognized a brace on her ankle and a pair of crutches barely concealed under the bed. Part of him wanted to ask what had happened, but the other part didn't genuinely care. These people had lied to him, had lied to Ezio, and he didn't care of one of them was hurt. Maybe it was just excellent karma.

The door to the adjoining room was open and that's where Altair and Shaun were lead.

Walker shut the door behind him and leveled a finger in Altair's face.

"You have no fucking business here. This is a police matter—I could have you arrested for interference!" He waved a hand absently at Shaun; "If this goes federal I could have his fucking Visa revoked and he could be deported! Do you want that? Is that what you want?"

Altair's lip curled up and his eyes seemed to glow; "I don't give a shit about your protocol, or this case! I came here to make sure Ezio is alright! You're the one who pulled me in here!" He pointed in Shaun's general direction; "He's under Desmond's tutelage, and this case DOES involve Desmond. He's the one who got you the intel on this guy, am I right?"

And since Walker's mouth opened and closed without that rushed hasty whispering of an argument, Altair knew right off that his assumptions had been correct.

"You can plant me outside, three-hundred feet is the regulation now, right? I'll stay out there, but I am NOT leaving Ezio here alone. Not after that bullshit you and Dad pulled before. It's not happening! And if you want to arrest me, then by all means do it! Just know I'll puke on the first guy who comes at me with handcuffs because I'm barely keeping it down as it is."

Walker's face seemed unemotional. Not even so much as a twitch to betray what he was thinking.

Shaun just stood there against the wall with his arms crossed waiting. This was all very interesting, yes, but he would much rather have been back at the club. He hadn't had a night to himself in weeks, and it wasn't that he didn't enjoy taking his sister and her Italian Shetland Pony to the odd rave, but he liked being able to enjoy himself and not worry whether or not his sister's Shirley Temple was going to come with a roofie. Or if that man in the blue gear was going to slip her LSD through that chewing gum he'd just shared with her.

Although this might be worth it, getting to rub Desmond's nose in the fact that he actually helped out with a police investigation while dear sweet dummy was playing pretend in a hospital bed.

And then the detective raised his hand and pointed with an accusing rigid finger right between Shaun's eyes; "Go talk to Reyes… Don't talk to me, don't even look at me. Just go."

Shaun squared his shoulders and fled with as much dignity as he could muster.

As soon as the door shut Walker's eyes narrowed; "What are you on? Your pupils are huge and you're sweating like a pig."

Altair snorted and lifted his hand, tugging back the cuff of his sleeve and displayed the IV shunt and the scratchy ID bracelet still on his wrist. "They gave me morphine a few hours ago… Right now I'm just in a shitload of pain."

Walker's brow flicked upward in concern, then pulled down again; "Why are you here if you should be in the hospital?"

Altair just grinned and pointed toward the ceiling, indicating what was going on two floors up without saying a thing.

The older man sighed in a put upon way and rubbed his brow; "Get out of here… Three-hundred feet."

Altair didn't move.

"Al, I mean it—"

"So did I, I gotta take a shit, go a way."

Walker could be reasonable, Altair decided. When he wanted to be. The Detective shook his head and cursed bitterly under his breath as he left the room.

Altair stood there for a few seconds, until he was sure he wasn't going to be disturbed, and pulled his cell phone from his pocket, thumbs working quickly across the keyboard, sweat dripping into his eyes;

'Shaun I need you to do exactly what I say understand?'

A moment later he got a frowning face and a few dots, followed by a rather lackluster; 'im listening' in all small case.

'I'm going to leave this room in a few minutes. Wait a while after I'm gone, then call me. Turn your phone on speaker so I can hear everything going on in that room but don't acknowledge that your phone is on. If you don't fuck this up I'll sign off on your papers as soon as I'm out of the hospital.'

It took barely four seconds after he'd sent the message to get the reply.

'Deal.'

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Walker was waiting when Altair came back into the control room. He had his arms crossed, and Thorpe's partner was there to make sure he actually left and wasn't lurking around in the hallway.

Altair argued a little, just so Walker wasn't suspicious, and had to grind his teeth against a sharp bark of pain when Abe grabbed him by the arm and the back of his borrowed-too-tight pants and hauled him outside.

Abe practically threw him off the curb and he stumbled, both arms around his stomach teeth ground tightly together. Once he had his feet under him again he turned and waited until the sergeant's back was turned before he displayed one of his fingers.

He'd gotten this lecture before; Flipping a cop the bird could result in one of two things. One, you get laughed at, or two you get arrested for assaulting an officer. Yes, some cops pressed their rights and legally you could be arrested for assault for flipping off a cop.

Altair felt like pushing his luck.

He stumbled the rest of his three-hundred feet into an alleyway and finally did end up losing what little water he'd been allowed at the hospital, and when he was able to lift his head, vision sparkling and dancing, the world rocking violently beneath his feet, he felt a small cool hand between his shoulders and another on his forehead.

"Jesus Christ…" Her hand shifted on his brow again and she forced him to lift his head and look at her; "You're on fire!"

Altair chuckled and made a flourishing hand gesture; "Thank you." He was tempted to bow, but given his current position thought better of it.

When she didn't move to pull away or push him further away from the hotel toward the airport, Altair pried his eyes open and looked at her. "Hi, Thorpe."

She tried to smile but it came off as a wince; "Your breath stinks."

He chuckled weakly and tried not to drop to his knees in the sick he'd left on the pavement.

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Giovanni was tense and still grumbling under his breath. He watched the door and every time a nurse came close he could feel his blood pressure rise.

How long was a Sting supposed to take? He knew it was inevitable that Desmond would be discovered, but he just prayed it wasn't any time soon.

He could play ignorant. Could pretend he hadn't noticed that Altair had crept out and a twenty-one year old had taken his place, he just hoped he didn't have to. He was rather attracted to the idea of being able to pull this off without a hitch, just like they did on TV.

But Desmond was whining every so often because the IV was leaking all over his hand and it smelled awful and his hand was going to be all pruned now, and why the hell was it so cold in here didn't they know that cold made people sicker?

Giovanni slouched dramatically in his bed and rubbed his face.

And then the CA came in to take Altair's blood pressure, temperature and to check his oxygen levels.

Desmond's eyes were wide as dinner plates as the woman pulled the curtain and Giovanni ground his teeth, trying to prepare his ears for—

The nurse released a high peel of a scream that would have made any busy co-ed from any number of popular slasher flicks die a horrible gory death from sheer jealousy and Giovanni caught a flash of Desmond's underwear as the boy leapt off the bed, sailed right out the door and took off barefooted down the hall struggling to hold the flapping smock closed behind him.

Giovanni sighed and cradled his brow in his palm. So much for that…

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	74. Chapter 74

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**Chapter 74; A Little Too Late**

Ezio's heart was in his throat. His senses overloaded and his mind working at twice the speed of light.

He could feel every set of hands that he'd ever been subjected to like ghosts on his skin. All the things he'd been trained to do, the thoughts he'd been forced to think. All of it came crashing back.

His eyes went to the lamp in the corner with that false decorative glass ball on top. That glass ball held the camera that was documenting all of this, as well as the false mirror just inside the doorway.

The microphones in the headboard, in the bathroom light fixture and the hung photograph beside the TV… All of it relayed directly downstairs.

He'd been anxious since he'd agreed to do this. And now he was past anxious and into absolutely terrified.

This wasn't like that asshole who'd followed him to the Laundromat. This wasn't like picking out faces on the train, or imagining what men would do to him if given the chance. This was putting himself into a situation where a man who admittedly wanted to use him thought he was going to get to do just that.

Walker had explained it to him that Chris was going to pretend to be his… his boss. Ezio didn't like it when Walker had said 'pimp' because it was such a cliché word and in all actuality that hadn't been what it was like at all. Those men weren't like pimps, and weren't like a boss you'd normally work for. Those men believed they owned you, that you weren't human, that you were just a toy to be possessed. Most of them didn't care if you lived or died. Ezio knew he'd been fortunate never to have been in the debt of one that didn't care who touched him. At least his former bosses had been kind enough to make sure the men they allowed to touch him were disease free.

Ezio knew a young boy, barely fifteen who had died of what he was sure was AIDS just two cramped beds away from him during his first year in Morrocco. None of the other kids had even realized the boy was dead until the next morning when Leo had gone to wake him and found him cold beneath his blanket.

Ezio hadn't even known the boy's name.

He felt very sick thinking he was willingly putting himself in this situation again. And the more he dwelled on it, the more he felt he was betraying Altair.

He knew that he didn't have to do anything to the man that came through that door. That he didn't even have to touch the bastard, but the fact that he had to act like he would, that he had to relax himself and make himself believe it was happening so he could give a convincing performance made him sick.

He had to actually believe he was here to have sex with this man so that man would believe it in turn and they could get the evidence they needed.

Sitting there on the foot of that bed bent over with his head between his knees trying to control his breathing, Ezio wondered how he'd ever been able to actually do this. How had he been able to go into some stranger's room—or on the fucking street corner! And allow himself to be used!

"I—I'm…" He pushed his hair back from his face, speaking to the room and to everyone who could hear him but couldn't come to his aid. "I'm gonna—" He swallowed and pushed himself to his feet, unnerved by how weak his legs felt as he shut himself in the bathroom, fisting his hair out of the way with one hand and gripping the edge of the toilet with the other.

In his head he was chanting; _I can't do this. I can't do this._

But aloud he was coughing and half sobbing; "I'm okay. I-I'm okay."

And in the observation room down stairs Shaun was watching with a sick expression on his face thinking; 'No you're not… No, you're not.'

He swallowed thickly and pushed his phone discretely back into his pocket, knowing all the while that Altair didn't need to hear this. Didn't need to know, that in his condition the absolute last thing he needed to hear was his boyfriend having a breakdown and know there was absolutely nothing he could do to help him.

Shaun cleared his throat and spoke quietly, in the same hushed business like tone as the rest of the officers in the room; "Would this… this John H. Sexfiend be—" He swallowed; "—be opposed to two?"

Walker narrowed his eyes and turned away from the screens; "What?"

Shaun hesitated, then made himself speak; "You do know that Desmond is—is marked just like he is." He motioned to the little form of Ezio on the monitor. "The only difference between the two is that he's actually been through the wringer so to speak. Desmond was never touched."

A dark little flicker slid into Walker's eye; "Go on…"

"I—I can call him and have him down here in just a few minutes, it—it might calm Ezio down a bit to have someone in there with him, and if this bast—I mean man, is interested in Ezio because of what he is, wouldn't he be more interested in one who was never… never spoiled by others?"

Walker was absolutely silent, and then that dark flicker in his eye expanded to full blown comprehension and he rubbed at his mouth. A wrinkle formed on his brow and he seemed deep in thought.

"What time is this shitface supposed to show up, Perkins?"

A mousy looking man with a thin goatee looked up from the pile of paperwork in his fist; "Nine thirty."

Walker consulted his watch and shook his head; "There isn't enough time to get him here, briefed and in position AND convince this douche it's a good idea…" He was quiet for a few more seconds then wagged a finger at Shaun; "I'll keep that in mind though… The Boss will be very interested to hear your theory."

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Altair was afraid to sit down. Sitting down would mean moving, and at the moment any movement other than breathing would take decidedly more effort than he was willing to expend.

Thorpe it seemed, thought the same thing, because she stayed right there with a hand between his shoulder blades bent forward slightly with her other hand on her knee. "You look like shit."

He wiped his nose on his wrist; "Well, I look better than I feel."

"Why did you leave the hospital if you're so sick."

He just looked at her from the corner of his eye and she knew.

"You're an annoyingly loyal fuck…" She sighed; "I'm glad you and the kid worked things out though. It was annoying as hell watching you two eye fuck one another at that barbecue."

"There's something wrong with you."

She snorted but let the insult slide.

"You do know your cover's blown, they put an APB out for you like ten minutes ago, right?"

Altair choked on half a laugh and gave his head a shake. "I'm not surprised… It was a long shot anyway."

She nodded; "You know I'm gonna have to take you back, right?"

He bobbed his head; "Will you wait 'till this is over? I—I wanna make sure he's OK."

She let her breath out in a growl and glanced around, then checked her watch and slid one hand to her belt, twisting the channel dial on the walkie she had clipped there. Half a breath later she pressed her finger to her ear and spoke into the mic button on her coat lapel. "Hey, Chris… I I need you to call Charlotte and tell her… Yeah—How did you know he'd show up?" She snorted; "Yeah, no, I don't need help—I don't need help, Hayes, I'm not delicate or some shit—NO, I've got him right here and I'll be taking him back to the hospital as soon as he's done puking." She snorted; "You think I can't take him down if he bolts?" She gripped Altair's sleeve and tugged until he looked at her; "Are you gonna make me chase you?"

He shook his head. He didn't even know if he could successfully sit down at the moment.

"See?" She said; "He isn't going anywhere, I don't need a goddamned knight in shining armor. Fuck." And she twisted the dial knob again, effectively ending the conversation. A moment later, fed up with the quiet and Altair's little whines of localized agony, she propped her free hand on her hip; "Your brother's an asswipe."

Altair couldn't help but laugh at it. "Preaching to the choir here, Thorpe."

She snorted and her eyes were drawn to a pair of figures walking toward the hotel from the east. Her body stiffened and she pushed Altair against the wall, slapping a palm over his mouth when he hissed. "Shhh." Her tone was acidic, chilling and Altair swallowed the lump it put in his throat.

The tension was almost solid, rolling off her in waves and her voice was lowered to barely a breath, her eyes wide and alert and deadly.

Altair couldn't see the men stopping on the corner, couldn't see the older of the two peeling off and disappearing down a side street. But he knew what that hushed buzz of Thorpe's earpiece meant, knew by the tilt of her eyes that the man who had stayed on the corner was the perp they were after. And he knew that this man was there because of Ezio, that man WANTED Ezio…

He felt a white hot rage building in his chest and part of him wanted to shove Thorpe away, walk calmly and quietly across the street, smile and greet the man, then proceed to coldly and brutally beat his brains out against any available hard surface.

The piece in Thorpe's ear crackled lightly again and she pinched the bud on her collar whispering into it; "He's about forty-five, fifty… five-nineish, thinning black hair, close cropped. Business suit, carrying a dark green gym bag… Caucasian, medium build…" Her breath hitched as she watched, ducking her head like a cat stalking a mouse; "He's taken the bait, Spider is on his way up… Abe… Abe?" She ground her teeth; "Abbas, are you still on the second perp? Good, keep him in your visual." She snarled quietly; "Don't just fuckin' ignore me like that—I don't care if you were taking a piss, you don't ignore me!"

Altair noticed then that Thorpe's voice was slightly muffled, distorted as if someone had shoved cotton in his ears. He shook his head to clear it, vision swimming and had to grind his teeth and blink rapidly to refocus himself. By that time though Thorpe was pressed up close to him, both of her hands on his face, tapping his cheeks with more force than was strictly necessary.

"Whoa… Stay with me, big boy. That's it… You alright? You hear me?"

He nodded. "I'm okay… I'm okay."

Thorpe snorted. "Right… Come on, I'm not leaving you here when it looks like you're gonna faint." She slung one of his arms over her shoulders and grabbed the back of his jeans with the other hand. "If you start singing Aretha Franklin again I'll punch you in the cock, understand?"

"What?"

"Never mind." They made it into the side parking lot of the hotel when all hell broke loose.

Thorpe's earpiece crackled and she had to release Altair to answer, her pulse quickening; "We've got ourselves a live one! Code Blue, move it people!"

Altair was no idiot… He'd grown up around cops, more specifically he grew up around his father's precinct, he knew what they used as code words, knew what the numerical codes meant. And he knew that 'live one' along with 'code blue' meant one of two things. One of which, especially on a sting operation, was that cover had been blown. And the second of which—

Altair heard screaming.

Thorpe was already on the stairs, and six other armed officers were rushing out of the Observation room, and running in their direction across the parking lot.

Altair didn't think. He knew those screams, knew that voice, and it felt like he'd been shot in the chest. He launched himself at Thorpe's heels. He didn't care who was in that room, whoever was making Ezio scream was going to die. That was all there was to it.

Thorpe grunted and turned, staring at him in a rage when he grabbed the back of her coat and pulled, trying to use her forward momentum to make it up the stairs before her, and the next thing he knew the heel of her lovely little Converse One-Star had connected solidly with his mouth.

He landed on his knees on the stairs gripping his face with one hand and his stomach with the other while the other armed officers darted past him and into the room.

He heard someone shouting; "ON THE GROUND! ON THE GROUND!" But when he tried to force himself up again he couldn't. His ears were ringing and everything felt muted, dull. So, he shifted himself and sat there on the steps bent over his knees waiting for the world to stop spinning.

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_"I won't let him touch you,"_ Chris had said while he showed Ezio the room. _"You just play your part, do your thing and I won't let him touch you… All you have to do is make him THINK that you're going to let him… The money just has to exchange hands and maybe a few names dropped. You're not gonna have to do anything other than pretend." _

When the knock on the door came Ezio was standing in the middle of the room. The phone had rung, just like Walker said it would. The signal that Chris and the suspect were on their way up the stairs.

The phone had rung and Ezio's heart had stopped for half a beat.

It was only one ring. But it signaled something in his head. Like a dog that has been trained to kill on the sound of a whistle. Or a rat that had been conditioned to associate a bell with food.

In one short evening Ezio had come to associate the sound of a phone ringing with the fear of being raped again. With the knowledge that he would have to convince this man that they were going to have sex.

He was standing there in the middle of the room, but his mind was a million miles away.

This was how he'd survived so many years of it. He'd separated himself from the situation, he'd played a part. And it came back naturally… too naturally, and his mind screamed and clawed and begged for it to stop.

Chris had disguised himself. He'd bleached his rust colored hair to an ashy brown and combed it back from his face with some styling wax… Ezio had liked the scent of it when the older man had gotten close enough to him in the bathroom to point out the false mirror and the microphone in the light fixture.

He was wearing a plain black t-shirt and denim with a pair of biker boots and looked very unnatural… Unsettling… Especially when there was no comfort in his eyes as he let that… that man into the room.

Ezio's mind clicked over him quickly.

Mid forties, balding, glasses. He was dressed like a business man, but he exuded the same disgustingly slimy aura as all the other men Ezio had been forced to do business with. It was a sick feeling, like their very souls wanted to reach out and touch you… taste you.

The man stepped forward and Ezio shrank back, feeling violent shivers working their way up his spine.

Oh, Jesus… he—He couldn't do this!

And the man's hand was lifting, fingers cold and soft and almost feminine catching under his chin and tilting his head to the side to examine the mark on his face.

Ezio wanted to cover it up. Felt vulnerable and sick by that simple tiny little touch. His eyes met Chris's over the stranger's shoulder, glaring and wide and horrified, asking why this wasn't being stopped. Chris had promised the man wouldn't touch him!

"This is fine…" The man said; "But it's so very easily faked… Let me see your brand."

Ezio swallowed the bile that was creeping up his throat and met Chris' eyes again.

Chris nodded. "Show it to him."

Ezio's heart was racing, and his fingers felt numb, moving of their own accord toward the fly of his jeans even while in his head he was screaming no no no!

The man's eyes followed his hands, smile widening.

Every second Ezio waited, hoping Chris would stop it, would say to the man 'money first', but he didn't.

"Come on, don't be shy." The man smiled and suddenly there were hands on him, pulling his jeans open and pushing them down, another tugging the leg of his boxers up.

Ezio's hands curled into fists and he reacted just half a breath after the man spoke;

"The money is in the bag, as well as the Collector's next—"

Ezio didn't even see that Chris had drawn his gun and was stepping forward to subdue the man, he just balled his fists together, lifted them and brought them down with all his might on the back of the bastard's head.

It was a solid blow that would have knocked a man out had the angle been correct, this time though all it did was daze the slimy little fuck and allow Ezio to leap back from him with his fists raised and his breath coming out in fast horrified sobs.

He was no longer in a hotel room, no longer in the presence of a police officer there of his protection. Ezio was suddenly on an airplane, flying high above the world and there were three men there pulling at his clothes and putting their hands where they shouldn't ever be and he was scared. He was so scared—

"NO! NO, NOT EVER AGAIN! NEVER AGAIN!"

And the world rocked.

He was pressed tightly against the wall and there was a man struggling with him. Trying to pin his hands but he was fighting. By GOD it felt good to fight back!

Right, left, center—PUSH.

He knocked the hands away, and slammed both palms hard against his attacker's sternum and everything stopped dead.

The room was quiet save for his breathing and someone was half coughing, half laughing. But not laughing in a scheming, evil way… Laughing in a stupid maybe even amused way.

Ezio pried his eyes open and blinked out, arms still extended, body quivering breath labored.

Chris was climbing to his feet rubbing his chest, and behind him Chris and two other officers were leading a handcuffed man from the room.

There was a woman with short hair wearing a leather jacket standing by the door looking in with wide eyes and pale cheeks. "Everything OK in there?"

Chris nodded and waved a hand. "Get him would you… He doesn't like me any more."

The woman, she was familiar for some reason, came slowly into the room, right hand up in a non-threatening salutation while her left hand inched down and covered her stomach. "Easy, kid… That's it. Just relax, you're alright now. Come with me, yeah? I'll take you someplace safe and you can get something to drink… You look like you could use a drink."

And it clicked… This was the woman he'd seen Altair leave the barbecue with. The cop on the motorcycle.

His shoulders sagged a little and all the color drained from his face.

Thorpe launched herself forward and caught him around the waist; "Easy, don't you pass out on me too. Jesus… Chris, get over here and give me a hand you worthless shit! I'm not supposed to be lifting heavy stuff! It's bad enough that idiot brother of yours almost made me fall down the fucking stairs!" She swept her hair off her brow; "FUCK, I need a cigarette." She struggled in her coat pockets and pulled out a pack of gum and shoved a few sticks between her teeth.

Chris caught him and eased him into a chair, smacking at his cheeks in a way that was a little too rough. "Come on, man. Wakey-wakey!"

It wasn't easy, pulling himself together. It wasn't easy by any means, but he did it. His legs still shook when he walked, and he felt slimy all over and in need of new clothes and a bath, but he walked out of the room under his own power and it felt like he was leaving something behind, something he hadn't needed and was glad to be without.

_I did it… It's over and I did it. _

He stood there on the balcony, hearing the sounds of the city and the police chatter and the chill of the wind on his face and BREATHED. When he opened his eyes it was like seeing the sky for the first time and he felt weak and strong and defiant all at once.

"Kid, you'd better go tell him you're OK, I need to get him back to the hospital before he, you know… _dies?"_

Ezio's head snapped around and he stared at the little woman there before him and then in the direction she was pointing.

Right below him on the second flight of stairs was at first who he thought was Desmond… But—

"Oh, no…" He launched himself down half of the stairs then vaulted over the railing on the rest and landed beside the older man, clasping either side of Altair's sweaty face. The PI was bleeding from his lip and he'd gone past being pale and slipped into an unsettling gray. When he forced his eyes open there was only the faintest slip of recognition in them.

"You… you OK, Ezio?"

He nodded, feeling his chest tightening because the PI's skin was burning under his hands; "I'm OK, Altair… A-are you?"

He smiled faintly and lowered his brow to the younger man's neck; "No. No, I'm not."

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_ More chapters tomorrow._

_Love, OZ_

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	75. Chapter 75

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_Hey guys, sorry for the delay. I got really sick earlier this week and hubby had to take me to the hospital. Don't worry though, chapters are still coming. Case-in-point, here's a big one!_

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**Chapter 75; Waiting in the Dark**

Time spilled outward from him, something he wasn't necessarily conscious of, but on some level aware of its passing.

He vaguely remembered Shaun, looping an arm around his neck, and Ezio doing the same at his other side. How every step was agony, and that he'd been unable to hold it in after the first fifty steps, how Ezio had made noises in his ear telling him it was alright to please—please god, Altair, stop crying. It'll be OK, I promise, just stay with me. Left foot in front of the right, over and over until all he could think about was the color of Desmond's shoes against the sidewalk. Over and over all the way to that damned blue Olds.

After that everything just became a flat endless plane to all sides of him. Like he was standing on top of the ocean a million miles from land.

He was aware of Ezio's hands through all of it though. Even as he fought not to drown, trying to push himself higher in the water so he could breathe. All that water under him… MILES OF IT. How may gallons, how many millions of trillions of gallons of water were there under his feet!

"Calm down, Altair… Please—please, calm down. It'll be OK."

Ezio had never been more frightened. There had been moments that came close to this, how still Leo had been on the bus all those years ago, curled in his arms, his skin glowing with heat. How he'd had his eyes closed but described landscapes and mountain sides as if they were right in front of him. He had been afraid Leo would die before they made it to the hospital, but after the blonde had been safely delivered into the doctor's custody, the fear that he would die vanished and Ezio had instead been concerned as to where his friend would stay after the doctors had cured him.

But now those memories, that fear was overshadowed. Altair's face was waxy gray, and his eyes were dull and rolling in his head. He kept saying, whispering with some vague, fever induced sense of amusement, that it didn't hurt so bad anymore. That he knew it would be OK now because it didn't hurt as bad as it had before.

Ezio just kept smiling at him, trying to appear calm. Altair didn't know what was happening, he needed Ezio to be calm even though he most certainly wasn't. But inside Ezio was terrified. The heat emanating from Altair burned wherever his skin brushed Ezio's and a fine sheen of sweat coated his brow and upper lip, his dark hair pulled in tendrils across his temples and neck.

Ezio felt somewhat sick thinking that he looked somehow beautiful with his hair clinging to him and a hectic red flush to his otherwise ashy complexion. It was reminded of how Altair looked after sex, pale from the shock of his release and flushed from the ecstasy of it.

This though, was much different. There was no pleasure in this, nothing attractive or beautiful, despite how Ezio's mind tried to make him think it was to keep him calm.

"You just stay awake, Altair. Do you understand me? You have to stay awake."

The very corners of his pale mouth twitched fractionally upward and he blinked lazily but otherwise didn't respond.

Altair didn't want to move, but when he did move, he flailed. Thrashing violently one second, and curled up holding his stomach the next. He didn't moan or groan, the noises he made were something else entirely. Breathless and outraged as he gripped his middle, curled in on himself in the back seat with his head on Ezio's lap, trying to roll into the floor as if that would make it stop. As if moving would physically separate himself from the pain.

And Ezio knew he couldn't help, couldn't pull Altair's focus to himself enough to make any difference because at that moment the PI's focus was shattered into a million pieces and all there was left was sensation. Ezio didn't know what was worse, the fact that he couldn't ease the pain of the man he loved, or the fact that Altair didn't really know anything was wrong.

Shaun was eerily quiet as he drove, taking the directions Ezio supplied without comment. Pushing his car as fast as he could on open side streets and praying that no police officer thought it was a good idea to pull them over for speeding. Something like that would cost them precious minutes that could quite possibly be the difference between life and death.

And Ezio had never been more glad that he automatically memorized all the turns and streets he encountered on a day to day basis or else he would have been lost in the dark trying to navigate Shaun through downtown Chicago.

The hospital was seemingly deserted when Shaun screeched to a halt outside the Ambulance bay, slamming his car into park with the emergency flashers going. He sprang out and rushed inside without even shutting off the engine, just lunged around the hood with the chains and straps on his pants flapping and his arms out and waving to draw attention to himself.

Ezio sat there, his heart hammering, combing Altair's hair out of his face and trying with all his might not to let his panic show.

And Altair just laid there, gripping the younger man's pants with all nine fingers, his face a heated brand against Ezio's thigh, his breath quick and uneven while his eyes roved sluggishly back and forth, seeing something that was just out of Ezio's field of vision.

Shaun came back almost immediately followed by a group of nurses and a doctor pushing a gurney.

It felt like someone was tearing him apart inside, as those cruel alien hands came out of nowhere, strangers forcing their way into the back of the car and shouting out numbers and words that didn't quite make sense.

"Help me get him up… Help me— One, two ,THREE!"

It was sickly beautiful, how Altair's head dropped backward on his neck and his eyes fell shut. As if all the life had just been lifted out of him when he'd been moved, and Ezio crawled out of the car after them, left hand fisted in the front of his shirt because he could still feet the heat of Altair's body against him, and maybe if he just held onto it everything would be alright. Altair couldn't die if he had hold of him like this.

He followed the doctors and nurses as they crowded around the gurney, whisking Altair away. Ezio jogged to keep up and found himself standing just inside the doorway to a glass walled room with lights so bright they burned his retinas.

It looked like the inside of a spaceship. Foreign alien machinery, tubes and wires and creatures in pale outfits and paper masks flitting about in waltz like motion.

Their words were just a buzz in Ezio's head, and his eyes stayed locked on Altair as he was shifted about on the gurney, light glinting of shiny metal scissors as the clothes he'd borrowed from Desmond were methodically cut off of him. How his voice raised when he was prodded or rolled or when cold cloths were applied to his skin, his eyes open but unseeing. Ezio was aware that Altair didn't even give a call of warning before he began to retch again, the doctors and nurses rolling him quickly onto his left side and supporting his head over a basin.

Ezio watched it all, aware only that he could hear his heart beating in his head and that he couldn't look away. If he looked away he would miss something and Altair could die. A nurse bumped his shoulder as she came into the room but he didn't even look at her, his eyes were locked on Altair and the wedges of pale naked skin he could see as the sheets the PI had been bundled in were shifted aside and his legs moved.

Altair flinched and gave a short snarl of outrage trying to twist backward to strike at the nurse taking his temperature, but the doctor was there holding him still.

Ezio's mouth felt very dry, and his skin waxy gripping at his shirt with one hand, his hair with the other and then the doctor turned away, stripped off his gloves and noticed him standing there.

"Hey."

Ezio didn't hear him until the man was standing in front of him, physically pushing him out of the room.

"You can't be in here!"

His eyes tore away from what was happening to the PI and locked on the doctor's face. "I—I love him. I can't leave him."

The doctor's face was unsympathetic. "You can't be in here now."

"What are you doing to him? Is he gonna be alright?"

The doctor turned and called out to an orderly; "Get him out of here!"

Ezio wanted to fight, wanted to twist and shout and claw at the man who grabbed him by the shoulders and firmly guided him down the hall and away, but he couldn't. His feet moved without his permission and his mind was locked into place.

"I can't leave him."

Shaun was standing just inside the double doors of the ER, one hand over his mouth, the other fisted at his side. When the orderly pushed Ezio toward him Shaun stepped forward and gripped his arm, drawing the younger man with him and back outside, pushing him bodily into his car and shutting the door.

Ezio sat there in shock for a moment, not seeing anything, or hearing anything, but aware on some level that Shaun was climbing into the driver's seat and the car was moving, easing into the parking garage and looking for an empty space.

Once parked Shaun climbed out and leaned his behind against the front fender of his car and struggled with lighting a cigarette. His hands shook violently and he stayed there puffing agitatedly through three cigarettes before Ezio had gathered himself enough to climb out of the car.

Shaun didn't touch him. Just walked an arm's distance away as they found their way back to the emergency room, taking up chairs across from one another in a less densely occupied corner of the waiting room.

There were children not far away, sitting with their mother, all bleary eyed and sniffling through a cold. There was a man in dusty work clothes with a hard hat perched on his knee holding a wad of gauze to a bloody hand. Two young men sitting close together, one wrapped tightly in a quilt and shivering while his friend rubbed at his back.

Ezio took it all in, but his mind was far away, still standing in the doorway to that room watching the doctors and nurses working over Altair, cutting away his clothes and poking needles into his skin.

"Ezio."

He jerked as if he'd been stabbed and turned his eyes upward recognizing immediately his father's face.

Giovanni was in his red and black striped pajama pants and a black zipping fleece jacket. He had a pair of tan colored hospital socks on his feet, the kid with the white non-skid stripes all over them, and was pulling his IV pole along beside him. His face was twisted in concern and he'd crouched a little to peer into his son's eyes. "Ezio, are you alright?"

He didn't answer, just stared for a few seconds, then his eyes flicked to the left toward the ER doors, then to the right where Shaun was standing up talking in an exasperated fashion to two security guards who had Desmond between them. Desmond who looked quite irritated and was wearing a pair of scrubs and had his arms crossed. A moment later the larger of the two security guards grabbed Shaun by the upper arm and they hauled the two young men toward the exit.

Giovanni had to grip Ezio's face between his hands and physically turn his son so their eyes met. "Are you alright? Ezio, do you want me to get a nurse?"

It was only then that he realized he was shaking.

"I'm fine," His lips felt numb.

Giovanni tugged a chair away from the wall and pulled it close, sitting and taking his son's hands in his own. "What happened? Tell me exactly what happened."

Ezio swallowed and shook his head.

"Ezio." His voice was firm, warning, and he squeezed Ezio's hands enough to let him know he was serious. "What happened." It wasn't a question.

Ezio swallowed, feeling his heart in his throat like a toad flopping around trying to escape… and told him.

He didn't know what was more frightening, the fact that he was actually saying it, that it had actually happened, or that now, once it was over, he realized how frightening it was and found himself completely incapable of remaining calm.

He shook, sweat rolled down his face and neck, his stomach boiled and yet, through it all—even though he wanted desperately to—he didn't shed a single tear.

Giovanni sat there for a long while after he'd finished talking, one hand on the back of his son's neck, holding their brows together, the other letting Ezio grip at his wrist hard enough to bruise. He didn't say anything in admonishment. Just nodded and asked frequently;_ 'Are you alright? Did he hurt you?' _

After a while the police showed up. Chris asking the doctors and nurses questions, and Ezio found his personal space invaded by that woman. 'Thorpe' the others had called her. She was pacing back and forth not far away with her arms around her stomach.

Giovanni moved his chair back where it belonged and sat there letting Ezio grip his hand without saying a word while all this happened. Eyes watchful and narrowed contemptuously as Chris scuffed a hand through his hair and took a seat across the room from them.

Hours passed by like years and through it all Ezio's mind wouldn't leave those heart stopping moments in the car with Altair held tightly to his chest hearing the PI say in that thin barely conscious voice; _'It… it doesn't hurt so bad now… I-I think I'm gonna be OK… It doesn't hurt now.'_

A nurse came over a while later and told Giovanni he had to go back to his room now, and wouldn't leave until he followed her.

Giovanni grumbled and cursed bitterly in Italian, and gripped Ezio's hand; _"If you haven't heard anything by three come back and get me and I'll find out what's going on." _

Ezio was grateful that his father didn't try to make him follow now. And grateful that the older man understood why he had to stay. He nodded and accepted the dry press of his father's lips on his brow, but didn't turn away from staring at those double doors to watch him leave.

Thorpe was sitting leaning her head against Chris' shoulder gnawing on her fingernail while the older man rubbed gentle circles on her stomach with his finger tips and whispered soft words into her hair.

By one thirty the ER waiting room was practically empty, and Chris and Thorpe had left. Ezio felt insulted that Altair's own brother hadn't bothered to stay until their was word on him. Then again, why was he surprised. Chris had promised not to let that asshole of a perp lay a hand on him, and yet he'd stood right there and let the man fondle him…

He felt sick all over again and bowed over his knees hiding his head between his arms.

An hour later there hadn't been so much as a peep out of the medical staff as to Altair's condition, and Ezio felt each second tick by like a physical weight on his shoulders.

The nurses behind the desk disappeared for a while, leaving him entirely alone sitting there. The whole building felt gigantic and hollow, alive and about to swallow him whole. He couldn't rest, couldn't think. All he saw behind his eyes was a mad mash of what had happened in that hotel room, and Altair barely clinging to consciousness in the back of Shaun's car. The way he had seemed not entirely Altair while the doctors and nurses had worked over him in the back. How it seemed that everything that made him the man Ezio loved was perfectly absent in those moments, and he was nothing but an empty shell with Altair's face.

He closed his eyes tightly and focused himself, stretching out his senses to every corner of the hospital. Imaging himself running at high speed down hallways, searching—FEELING for that warm spicy throb that lived under his skin when Altair was near him. Even in another room he was able to feel it… But now, now he couldn't find it anywhere.

He sat up, back aching and stiff from remaining so long bent like that, his backside almost completely numb in the uncomfortable chair, and slapped angrily at the moisture on his cheeks.

The clock read three-fifteen.

Ezio looked around and spotted a doctor standing behind the thin window of the double doors reading over someone's chart. He sprang to his feet and rushed to the door, knocking repeatedly, rudely, until the doctor noticed him and opened the door to ask him if everything was alright.

"You—" Ezio cleared his throat and tried again; "You have a patient back there… Altair… Is—Is there any word on his condition? I need to know he's alright. Please tell me he's OK."

The doctor scrunched his brow and held up a finger then shut the door and walked away.

Ezio swallowed a sour taste in his throat and waited, squeezing his hands into fists so they stopped shaking.

Ten minutes later the doctor came back and stuck his head out; "Are you a family member?"

Ezio's breath hitched; "I—I'm his… He's mine—my… W-we're together." He made a back and forth motion with a finger between himself and a space in front of him that was supposed to represent the PI. "Please tell me he's OK."

The doctor let his breath out in a slow hiss and rubbed his brow, scraping a hand back through gray flecked hair. When he looked up again his eyes were sympathetic. "Come with me."

Ezio felt his stomach drop out, but when the doctor held the door open he followed.

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There had been times in Ezio's life, before that moment where he'd had to make a conscious decision whether or not he was strong enough to endure something. Before it had always been sexual. Whether or not he was strong enough to endure strange men doing painful things to him for hours on end for a fistful of money. Whether he was strong enough to stay quiet so as not to give his abuser the satisfaction of hearing him scream or of it would be easier to just give them what they wanted.

Ezio had only had to decide if he was strong enough to continue living twice. At that moment, faced with the possibility—in the slow hesitant way the doctor led him out of the ER and toward an elevator—that he may have to endure the rest of his life without Altair, Ezio didn't know if he would be able to handle it or not. But a little voice in the back of his head told him, strongly, petulantly that if IT happened, he would have to endure. He would have to persevere because the alternative was unacceptable.

Altair had fought too long and too hard to help him get through his fears, just for him to throw his life away at the concept of living without him.

The doctor didn't say a word until the elevator stopped and Ezio found himself walking down a long wide hallway onto a circular ward of glass walled rooms filled with dark ness and beeping machines. Nurses and doctors bustled busily about and the lights were on in one particular room, the room the staff seemed most interested in.

The doctor gripped Ezio's elbow when he tried to break away and press his face to the glass, and whispered quietly into the younger man's ear; "Wait here."

Ezio didn't nod, or act like he'd heard him, but he stayed put as his guide poked his head into the room and spoke quietly to the throng of people around the bed.

A moment later a male nurse came out, stripping gloves off his hands and a mask from his face. He was tall, taller than Altair or Desmond, thin, but broadly muscled with short blonde hair and tired blue eyes. He spoke quietly to Ezio with his thin strong fingers laced together in front of him like a log house.

"You're the boyfriend?"

Ezio nodded, swallowing compulsively again while his mind grabbed that word and clung to it.

"Okay, I'm—I'm gonna give you the short version, alright?"

Another nod. "Okay…"

The nurse took a deep breath and let it out; "After you brought him in he was taken into emergency surgery. His blood pressure dropped twice but they were able to stabilize it, his appendix ruptured and some necrotic tissue had to be removed… He—He's not in a good way."

Ezio felt like he was choking and he gripped the front of his shirt again as if he could hold Altair to this world if he squeezed it hard enough. "Is… is he—"

"We're keeping him sedated for the time being so his body can focus on healing."

He bobbed his head, feeling that there was a tight hard stone in his throat cutting off his ability to breathe. "Can I see him?"

"The doctor thinks it would be best if visitors refrained from going into the room, at least until they're able to bring his temp down. The incision is still open and any contamination at this stage could be lethal."

Ezio nodded and the nurse placed a hand on his shoulder in what he assumed was supposed to be a comforting way, then left him standing there.

Ezio stood there for a few minutes, peering in through a gap in the blinds covering the window with his breath held. He could see Altair now, through the glass.

His face was no longer pale, but translucent, dark bruise colored circles under his closed eyes, hair swept back and soaking wet from the sweat, his lips were chapped and bloody looking around the breathing tube and he seemed so still and small amid the sheets and tubing as the nurses worked over him, shifting cold towels and pads against his underarms and hips and between his legs.

Ezio was hypnotized by it, perfectly terrified and sickened that the man he loved was there, on the other side of the glass, and there wasn't anything Ezio could do to comfort him or help.

_Yes there is…_ That little voice said in the back of his head. _You can take care of yourself so when he gets out of there, when he's well enough to go home you can help. Take care of yourself right now and let the doctors make sure he's OK… You can do this, Ezio. You can make it._

He wasn't sure how he was able to make himself leave. Wasn't sure how he made it back down to his father's private room, all he knew as he was standing outside it staring at the name plates by the door, sneering when he saw they had Altair listed as; 'Hayes. A' in all caps, then he was easing the door open and leaning heavily against it as he pushed it closed.

Giovanni was still awake, sitting on his bed listening to the TV. When Ezio entered he was on his feet IV tube trailing behind him as he rushed forward and pulled his son to his chest. "Come here… Jesus, you're as white as a sheet!" He drew Ezio away from the door and eased him to sit on the edge of the bed, sitting himself down in the chair near by, still gripping his son's elbows as if to keep him upright. "Is there any news?"

Ezio nodded and told him slowly, carefully, his voice somehow devoid of emotion, and when he was finished he felt his mouth flapping open and closed helplessly and then; "It's my fault… If I hadn't agreed to going on that—that fucking sting—"

Giovanni gripped the sides of his head.

"—Why did he leave? Why did he come after me? I told him I'd be OK! I told him to stay! W-why didn't he listen to me?"

Giovanni let his breath out carefully and shook his head; "You can ask yourself that a million times, and when he wakes up ask him ten-million more and you'll never get a straight answer out of him, Ezio… The fact is he did it, he did it because he loves you—That doesn't mean it was the right thing to do, but God knows I didn't try to stop him…" He let his eyes fall closed and bowed their brows together again, as if he wished to transmit his thoughts directly into Ezio's head. "There's no point in asking 'what if' and 'why didn't I', all it will do is create more stress… It happened and there's no changing it."

Ezio's breath sobbed out of his chest.

"He'll be alright… I know it. It's scary right now but he'll be alright." He was quiet for a little bit, just letting Ezio cling to him and rubbing at his back soothingly; "All you can do right now is rest. And tomorrow if they let you, you go in and let him know he's not alone. Just—just take it one day at a time, alright?"

He nodded, still unable to catch his breath.

Somehow he wound up lying down in his father's hospital bed, letting the older man bundle blankets around him and he pushed back defensively, trying to get up again; "I'm not taking your bed. I won't. You're having surgery tomorrow afternoon I am NOT taking your bed!"

Giovanni rolled his eyes and with a flick of his wrists unfolded the knitted throw Maria had brought him from home to make the place 'hommier' and approached the other side of the bed, lying on top of the blankets spooned to his son's back with the throw over his shoulders. "You're not taking my bed. I'm sharing it… you're exhausted and I need to reassure myself that that _bastardo_ didn't hurt you." He fiddled with the remote box attached on a cord to the bed and turned the lights and TV off, only a dim blue glow from the bathroom and the thin orange light through the window blind remaining.

"Papa?"

"Hmmm?"

"Are… are you angry that I—that I went with Detective Hayes tonight?"

Giovanni took a deep breath and let it out slowly to the ceiling; "I understand why you went and I'm proud of your intentions, but yes… I'm angry you went without telling me."

Ezio didn't reply.

"What were you thinking, Ezio? My God, what if you'd been hurt? What if that lunatic had harmed you!"

"I'm sorry—"

"I don't want you to be sorry, I want you to think next time… Please, for the love of all that is holy, Ezio. Do NOT put yourself in a position like that again without telling someone first! Don't do that again unless you've told me! I—I was terrified."

"Altair told you?"

"No… He didn't have to, I could tell something was wrong when Desmond showed up and Altair insisted on them changing clothes. I knew something was wrong and it involved you. Altair wouldn't risk himself like that unless it was about you… I figured the rest out on my own."

Ezio scrubbed his nose on his wrist.

Giovanni remained still for a long while, feeling his son shudder and fight to hold down the sounds of his tears; "He loves you very much Ezio… I-I didn't realize that until tonight… He was as frightened for you then as you are for him now."

"I deserve this then, huh?"

"No. No, you don't deserve this! Neither of you did!"

"I'm just—It—it hurts so much and I… I can't help him at all."

Giovanni laced his fingers over his son's. "Don't think about what you can't do, focus on what you can…"

"And what can I do?"

"You can stay safe. You can take care of yourself until he's well enough to leave this godforsaken place."

He was quiet for a moment, then nodded; "I can do that."

"Alright then, see? You can help him."

Ezio chuckled wetly and shook his head.

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	76. Chapter 76

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_Hey, guys, guess what! Hubby and I are gonna have a baby! I'm about four months along and the tests all look like it's a boy! We're very excited, hubby's still making his shocked face. I've been trying to get a chapter out to you since we found out but it's been delayed, and delayed and delayed again. There's no excuse. I'm pregnant and lazy and I'm sorry. *offers internet brownies and cake and other assassin shaped yummies as penance*_

_On a lighter note, here's some chapters! I'll have 77-80 up within the next few days. _

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**Chapter 76; Trauma **

Giovanni went into pre-op at ten thirty. Maria had arrived with Claudia and Ezio expected her to fuss at him and squeeze his face when Giovanni told her what had happened the night before, but she was surprisingly quiet, just sat there gripping his hand in the waiting room. Claudia to his other side with her head leaned into his shoulder.

Ezio ate when his mother told him to, drank the coffee Claudia put in front of him and even swallowed the potato chips he was offered shortly before his father came out of surgery.

Giovanni was groggy, and seemed to find it fascinating that if he crossed his eyes he could see his own nose. Then he grumbled and cursed because that damned torture device was back and he didn't know if his pene would ever be the same again!

Claudia blushed and stared at the ceiling glad she was on the other side of the bed and could see nothing but the look on her father's face as he held up the sheets for his wife's inspection.

Maria sighed indulgently and patted his head, tucking him once more back into his bed. "It'll be alright." She kissed his brow and let out a relieved breath when he dropped suddenly back into slumber.

Giovanni would be fine.

Ezio was glad, relieved his father was well on his way to full recovery, but his mind was circling like a vulture on the man lying helpless upstairs. Was Altair alright? Was he still breathing? He shuddered and in his mind ran all the way to Altair's bedside and pressed himself to every inch of the PI. Willing with everything he had that the older man just hang on. Cling to life and STAY. Please GOD oh, please just stay.

"Ezio…" Claudia gripped his arm. "Come on, I-I'll go with you."

The ICU waiting room was full. A few families were huddled together praying quietly, a few others were sitting gripping the arms of their uncomfortable chairs. Some small children ran back and forth laughing and playing tag and squealing, unaware that just a few feet away, on the other side of the wall someone was dying, or near death or dead.

Ezio felt spiteful and angry and wanted to tell them to shut up, just shut the hell up and sit the fuck down… but another part of him wanted to feel that innocence again, that obliviousness. Because then it wouldn't hurt so much.

Ezio spoke to the receptionist behind the desk and she tapped away on her keyboard for a moment then called back to the nurse at the HUB and asked if 'Mr. Hayes' was allowed to have visitors.

Ezio cringed at that name. It wasn't Altair, that name was false and ugly and he hated it. Why did everyone insist on using it.

"The doctor said you can go on back… Just through that door on the left and down the hall." The receptionist handed over two visitor's passes and turned back to her computer.

Claudia's grip on his arm didn't waver and he welcomed the pinch of her nails in his skin.

A nurse greeted them at the double doors just inside the ICU. She gave a brief tutorial on how to wash their hands and wrists, then held out yellow long sleeved smocks with tight cuffs and collars. "The incision is still open, we're trying to cut down on the bacteria exposure." She watched while Ezio and Claudia slid into the smocks then held out a box of sterile gloves, paper face masks and pale blue hairnets. "He's still sedated, but that doesn't mean it's not possible for him to hear you… Don't bump the bed or move the sheets and if you have any questions just let me know."

They nodded, anxiety bubbling in their chests like lava lamps.

Ezio felt like an alien. Stifled, suffocated. But the nurse let them into the room.

Not much had changed since the night before. Altair was still, unmoving, his chest rising and falling slowly, rhythmically under the sheet stretched over him. Only his face, head and hands were visible. And the collection of machines around him, connected to him, was terrifying. Even more so a rectangular container clipped to the side of the bed filled with dark viscous liquid smeared at odd intervals with pale milky yellow.

Ezio wanted to be sick. He wanted to turn and be sick but more overpowering was the urge to gather Altair to him and hold him. Shield him from this—this awfulness.

He approached the bed without hesitation and gripped Altair's cold hand in his own. Lacing their fingers and squeezing.

Claudia stayed by the door with her gloved hands raised, her expression startled, and disgusted and terrified. She had never seen a human being in such a condition before, knew it was possible but had never put it in perspective that it could happen to someone she knew.

Petruccio had never gotten so terribly sick that his survival was questioned. And even if it had been Claudia had never been told the extent of it. This was real and frightening and dark and ugly and she hated it. Wanted to close her eyes and wish it away… But she couldn't.

Altair didn't look sick, he looked like he was dying and there was her brother, clinging to him, whispering words of love and praise that he was doing so well, to just hang on a little longer, fight just a little more.

Ezio brushed his gloved knuckles against Altair's brow, shifting his lank hair this way and that so it more resembled the careless style he usually let it flop into. "My dad's surgery went well… He's complaining about the catheter again… He actually said 'pene' in front of us." He chuckled quietly; "I thought Claudia was going to burst into flames." His eyes lifted and found Claudia standing there by the door and for a second his smile faded and he looked small and hurt and lost, reading the expression on her face. His eyes slid closed and he took a long slow breath and turned away from her, standing there silently gripping Altair's lifeless hand.

"I'm here, Altair… I-I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to worry about a thing. You-you just concentrate on getting better." He swallowed a knot in his throat and felt a strange warmth of strength building in his chest. "I'll take care of everything… I'll take care of you." He bent and pressed his masked lips to Altair's hair and willed the older man to hear him, pushed with everything he had; "You're gonna be just fine. I promise."

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Ezio slept in the reclining chair beside his father's bed that night. Ate his breakfast the next morning, pulled out his study book for his Pre-Test and had Giovanni quiz him on certain things. He was quiet, but THERE, which surprised Giovanni. He had expected from his son's behavior the day before, the trembling and stark fear in his eyes, that Ezio would shut down again like he had shortly after his return.

Giovanni had never been happier to be wrong in his life.

Ezio was frightened, that was plain to see. But he was persevering. He rested, he ate, he took proper care of himself, and every afternoon during the short ICU visiting hours, Ezio went upstairs and stood by Altair's bedside.

He came back very quiet, his eyes glazed and worried, but determined.

Giovanni followed him on the forth day. He followed simply because he'd been taken off of his IV fluids, and the doctors had urged him to walk around a little… So, he'd crept along hands slung in the pockets of his jacket, slippers soft against the tile, trying to act as if he belonged there. Which considering he was wearing pajamas and a black knitted jacket and had his hair pulled up into an almost effeminate knot on his head, as well as his glasses hanging low on his nose, it's quite possible he looked like an absolute idiot… But that didn't matter. What mattered was Ezio, and discovering for himself how far Altair's condition had progressed, or deteriorated.

Ezio spent his precious fifteen minutes by Altair's bed, then at the nurse's prompting, which consisted of her reminding him five times that his time was up, Ezio hung his head and left the room.

Giovanni waited until his son had passed on his way to the cafeteria before he politely let himself into the ICU and stood against the glass wall looking into Altair's room.

The PI was still intubated. Still sedated, but his color was almost normal, pale and sick, but not deathly so. The blankets were rolled to his waist and a doctor was in there now, easing up the smock fitted across the younger man's shoulders, pressing gently, carefully around a thick bandage that covered almost the entirety of his stomach.

The doctor was slowly peeling back layers of bandaging, his expression hidden behind a paper mask and a plastic splash visor. He looked like some weird creature from science fiction in that disposable suit.

The doctor seemed pleased with whatever was beneath the bandages because he nodded and pressed them down again, and just so happened to catch Giovanni staring in through the window at them. He scowled and crossed the room, pulling the blinds shut, and a few seconds later stalked out of the room peeling off his mask and protective gear. "You're not supposed to be back here, Sir." His hands were up, already ushering Giovanni out, but the Auditore lifted his own palm, trying to placate him.

"I'm just wanting an update on his condition."

"Are you family?"

"Yes." Giovanni lied easily.

The doctor didn't look convinced; "Do I have to call for security?"

Giovanni let out an irritated breath and when the doctor urged him out again, he went.

He found Ezio in the room when he returned. Staring blankly ahead and eating fries smothered in cheese in a strange mechanical way. His eyes fallowed Giovanni as he went to his bed and eased himself across it, rubbing at the tiny incisions on his stomach and side.

"Are you alright, papa?"

He nodded; "May I ask about Altair?"

Ezio stilled for a moment and his eyes went to the foam container of fries on his lap. After a minute he folded his legs under him and continued eating, now with more purpose; "They've been weaning him off the ventilator, he's breathing on his own… He's still mostly sedated, but he opened his eyes a little today…" He reached around behind him and produced a foam cup with a straw and took a long drink.

Giovanni was amused to see the contents was bright purple. He wondered what it was.

"He squeezed my hand when I talked to him."

"That's good."

Ezio nodded; "His fever broke last night. And the in-infection is subsiding." He stabbed more fries on his fork and shoved them into his mouth almost violently. "The doctor said he might be able to leave the ICU by the end of the week."

"That's good… That's very good. He's getting better."

"Your doctor said you could go home tomorrow."

Giovanni paused, wetted his lips and gave a slow nod; "Yes, he did."

Ezio didn't look up from his food. "I'm not leaving him."

"Ezio—"

"I'm not gonna leave him here alone… I already talked to Malik. He's gonna come and sit with me tomorrow night, and—"

"Ezio, there's no use in you sitting here all night in a waiting room—"

"I have to be here in case he needs me."

"He would want you to be comfortable."

"Papa, he's alone and he's scared—"

"So are you… Or at least you feel that way. You're not alone."

Ezio looked up at him. Still chewing, and there was such calm determination on his face Giovanni found his argument nullified with a single glance. He let his breath out in a defeated sigh and rubbed his face, shoving his glasses up past his brow and into his hair; "At least let me find a hotel room for you… There's a hotel just two streets down—"

"Thank you."

"—Really, Ezio you…" He paused, and lifted his head, regarding his son in something akin to astonishment. "Really? You'll… You'll let me find a hotel for you?"

He nodded. "I wasn't planning on sitting in the waiting room for the next three days. He needs me, yes, but he needs me to be healthy and capable of taking care of him. Not cramped and achy and sleepless because I've been trying to get comfortable in a hard chair or on the freaking floor." He licked cheese off his fork and looked up into his father's shocked face. "Did you really think I was going to…" He scrunched his brows. "A few days ago, yes I would have… I would have gladly slept on the floor under his bed to stay near to him. But he's getting better. He LOOKED at me today and he SAW me… He's improving, he'll be fine… I can afford to sleep in a bed because I know now that he is, in fact, going to be alright." He stabbed a few more fries and turned to look at his hands; "And no, I'm not scared… I'm terrified."

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Giovanni went home reluctantly. Although for some strange reason, trying to get him into the wheelchair to take him out front was a small war of wills, and again, trying to get him _out_ of it, once he'd managed to pop himself up on the back wheels outside beside the car was another.

Ezio let his mother kiss his face until he was sure he had more lipstick on him than she did, then hugged his father around the shoulders and waved as they left. He stayed in the cafeteria for a while and ate food that was mostly tasteless, then practically inhaled a frozen yoghurt and browsed in the hospital gift shop while he waited for Malik to arrive.

He did eventually arrive. Late, grumpy and gumbling as he devoured a large chicken sandwich from the Burger King down the street complaining that Hadiya's sister Neema had arrived two days earlier and she and Hadiya were sitting around feeling one another's stomachs and chattering happily and leaving Malik to take care of the children by himself, keep up with the shop, and take care of his wife and his wife's sister. He was exhausted and had been craving the smell and taste of Vaseline of all things.

He shuddered visibly and continued eating.

Ezio's nose wrinkled up, "That sounds disgusting!"

Malik looked at him as if to say 'no shit' and continued eating.

They went up together after Malik was finished eating to visit Altair. Malik didn't go into the room but waved, a stupid sarcastic grin on his face, when Altair lazily twitched his eyes to the glass wall to his left and peered blearily out at the world.

He was still intubated and probably would be until the next morning, but he wasn't nearly as sedated as he had been. Just enough to keep him from trying to gnaw on the tube in his mouth, or pluck at the feeding tube they'd snaked up his nose.

Ezio found himself giggling, feeling lighter, more relaxed because as bad as Altair looked now, he had looked so much worse the day after his surgery. Where as he looked sedated and groggy and not quite awake now, before he'd looked as if he were plainly dieing.

Ezio briefly touched Altair's hair, scowling when he noticed how greasy and dirty it was becoming; "As soon as you're out of here, I'm gonna wash this mess… You look gross."

Altair's eyebrow cocked up and Ezio could almost hear him, even without looking down at the barely legible scribbles on the notepad the PI had been given by the nurse moments before so they could communicate.

'I'm lying in a hospital bed with tubes in every hold in my body except my ears and my tear ducts and you think my hair looks gross?'

All Altair had managed to scrawl on the notepad was something that looked like 'huff liffle' and a few random scribbles that could have been intended as words but hadn't quite translated.

There were also halfhearted little wobbly stick figures that were doing questionable things with spindly long, wavy limbs and their misshapen melon heads.

Ezio remembered Altair's pervy stick figure art and how he'd wanted to burn it so nobody would see. This… this for some reason, he wanted to keep. It was proof that Altair was getting better, that he would be alright and Ezio wouldn't have to worry about living without him just yet.

The nurse came up and pecked on the glass to get their attention and tapped her wrist above her watch twice.

Ezio let his breath out in a quiet groan and pulled his paper mask down far enough to press a kiss on Altair's brow and guide the older man's hand with the pencil to scrawl a rather malformed heart shape on the yellow pages.

The corner of Altair's lips twitched upward and his eyes, though hazed with the medication, smiled.

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	77. Chapter 77

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_Sorry for the repost! I forgot to put in a note here and thank ayazani for being beta this chapter! GOD BLESS YOU HONEY! *kisses* You are a LIFESAVER!_

_*bows*_

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**Chapter 77; Patterns**

Ezio had a hamburger for dinner. Seated across the booth at the Burger King from Malik eating quickly, almost as if he was starving. Small whimpers escaped him every so often, his tastebuds seemed to be on overload.

The food at the hospital was intentionally bland, unsalted and had very little real flavor. Greasy fastfood burgers weren't particularly any more nutritious, but they tasted so fucking GOOD.  
Ezio could understand why Desmond ate them so often.

Malik had his own burger and was eating slowly, tired, with half focused eyes.

There were a few people in the restaurant, teenagers mostly and an older man with a small laptop computer and his tie askew.

"Do you wanna go play in the castle?" Ezio snorted, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the equipment.

Malik rolled his eyes; "It smells like feet… I'd rather not," then after a minute, "Did you know there was a test done… A man took samples throughout the interior of a play place like this, and found strains of bacteria that are usually kept in labs?"

Ezio's brows rose.

"There was ghoneria in the ball pit."

Ezio's nose curled up and his lips pursed in disgust.

"You're kidding me."

Malik shook his head.  
"I'm quite serious."

"That—" Ezio shuddered, "That's disgusting!"

Malik nodded.  
"Should I mention what they found in the slide?"

"No, NO," Ezio scowled at the older man, "NO."

Malik grinned and continued eating.

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Ezio invited Malik to stay with him at the hotel, simply because he didn't want to be alone in a strange place. The hospital was one thing, a dark hotel in the middle of the city was a completely different matter. And of course, Malik wasn't bad company. He was quiet, stayed out of the way and, aside from spewing strange facts, rarely said anything.

The hotel room was on the sixth floor and had two beds and a basic en-suite bathroom with a vanity mirror.

It was simple, but in its own way luxurious. Giovanni wouldn't have had it any other way.

Ezio dropped his small bag on the floor in front of his bed and watched in amazement as Malik went about stripping the bed of his linen.

"What are you doing?"

"Did you know the hotel cleaning staff is only required to change the sheets in each room after the occupants leave, not the blankets?" He looked up with an innocent expression on his face; "It is quite possible that the blankets on that bed have been there for a week and that people have sat naked on them or even had messy unprotected sex on them."

Ezio's eyes widened and he cringed away from the bed.

"The carpet is also only ever vacuumed and rarely gets shampooed or cleaned because it takes too long to dry. That's why the nap is so tight."

"You… Jesus, you're… please tell me you're kidding!"

Malik gestured to his chin; "Do you see this face? Does it look like it's kidding?"

Ezio was still for a moment, then stripped his bed as well and watched Malik call down to the front desk and ask for fresh blankets.

He had never thought, really, about what went on in hotel rooms before he arrived. This being only the second he'd stayed in since returning home from Morocco. Of course he'd known. He'd been the one to have the messy sex before. He'd been the one to sit on the blankets naked after his 'client' had left and he'd sat there shivering and trying to force down his self disgust at what he'd just done.

It was still a surprise though, to realize that other people did that as well. Other people in this very city, were in the same position he'd been in for the last ten years.

It was sickening and he had to take a moment in the bathroom, rubbing cold water on his face to be able to function and stay in the room with Malik without those memories curling up his spine and taking over.

Malik was here just to sleep, not do THAT. Ezio was just here to sleep. JUST SLEEP.

He downed his anti-anxiety medication before he re-entered the room.

Someone had been up to deliver the fresh blankets and Malik had flipped them expertly over the sheets without comment. He was bending over his stout little duffle bag, going through what he'd brought with him.

He'd brought his own pillow, a fat, heavy firm thing in a dark blue flannel case, and he'd deposited the pillows from the bed he would be occupying onto Ezio's. He glanced up when the younger man came out of the bathroom but didn't make any comments. He just nodded quietly and disappeared himself with a toothbrush and paste clasped in his hand.

Ezio crawled into the bed and arranged the pillows around him in a horseshoe shape, scrunching and tangling the blankets around him in the very center of the bed. Nights of sleeping curled in a hard hospital chair, or in his father's arms had left a terrible ache in his back and stretching out on the expensive hotel mattress made it significantly worse for a few minutes, before his medication began to kick in and the tension bled gently out of him.

He didn't particularly enjoy taking the pills. He always felt groggy and almost stoned when he took them, but the fear and the dark thoughts melted away oh so prettily.  
It was nice on occasions like this when he needed sleep and didn't have the energy or patience to fight the images away himself.

More than once he'd contemplated taking them every night and conserving his strength for something more worthwhile, but Marjory's words echoed in his head. 'Using the medication to clear your head all the time isn't helping you heal. It's making you dependent… Let's say you did this and then one day you wake up and you can't renew your prescription? What would happen if after so long having them, you didn't anymore?'

Ezio swallowed. He knew exactly what she was talking about, suddenly being flooded with emotions he hadn't learned to handle himself. He also, for some reason, remembered when he'd been fifteen and Leo had discovered he'd been doing drugs with a few of the other boys in the collection.

Leo had tied him up and they'd waited together for the drugs to leave his system… Ezio swallowed, remembering how, for years that had been his only escape. Strange how now, he rarely ever craved such an escape. The anti-anxiety medication left him feeling similar, dulled, without a care in the world… And it wasn't a very enjoyable sensation. He much preferred being clear headed.

Malik turned the lights off when he came out of the bathroom and situated himself on his bed, leaning against the headboard. He fetched his little computer when he was settled and opened it on his knees.

Ezio watched for a few minutes. How Malik's single hand moved, how his fingers flew over the keys. He'd never seen someone type so quickly one-handed before. He must have commented on it because Malik chuckled.

"I bought the smaller computer so I could type quickly, yes… The larger ones require too much movement and it makes my wrist hurt."

They talked for a while, but Ezio's mind forgot what it was about as soon as they'd finished speaking. He was aware of his surroundings for a little while longer. Malik finished whatever he was doing and put his computer away, then sprawled himself across the bed with a large, jaw cracking yawn and a quiet chuckle that he hadn't had the bed to himself in years… How strange that he missed his wife's presence.

Malik breathed heavily in his sleep, but didn't exactly snore.

Ezio drifted off without much fuss and when he woke couldn't remember his dreams at all.

It might have been for the best.

When they arrived back at the hospital Ezio went to the ICU by himself, Malik staying behind in the waiting room and talking calmly with a doctor about the PI's condition in an authoritative, friendly way.

Ezio was shocked when he made it back. The nurse didn't force him into a hairnet and yellow smock this time, but watched while he scrubbed his hands and put on a paper mask. He pulled open the door to Altair's room and blinked with his mouth dropping open and a tight, warm, excited feeling filling his chest.

Altair was propped up in the bed, looking around blearily and every so often he reached up and picked at the feeding tube still in his nose, but the breathing tube was gone. And the only evidence of it that remained was a pink, irritated place at the corner of his mouth.

He smiled.

Ezio felt like the whole world light up, all of the color rushed in and all the air was let back into the room.

He sagged against the door frame and his vision twinkled with star dust at the edges.

"You really should breathe, Ezio."

His voice was rough, disused.

Ezio relished in it. He wasn't aware of his strength returning, he just was suddenly at Altair's bedside holding his face between both hands, their brows pressed together as if he wanted to sink into the other man like two soap bubbles merging.

Altair chuckled quietly and lifted his right hand to touch Ezio's cheek.

Had Ezio been asked days before what he would do if Altair was suddenly well again and that tube was gone from his throat he would have said quite plainly that he would want Altair to talk. Talk about anything, anything at all. Knives, legal procedure, how disgusting hospital food was. How dumb this whole situation had been. How stupid it was that they hadn't closed the wound on his side after his surgery. Jesus, anything at all!

But now, in the reality of it, standing there holding Altair's face and staring into his coherent eyes Ezio knew the truth of it.

He had never known a silence to be comforting before. Especially after days of the silence in this very room, waiting for Altair to improve or deteriorate. Days of listless, heart-wrenching WAITING.

This though, this silence was warm and calm and brimming with joy and energy.

Altair wanted to say so much and Ezio wanted to hear all of it, but instead they remained perfectly quiet and let the brush of their fingertips and the love in their eyes do the talking.  
And that was louder than any words could ever hope to be.

The nurse gave him a whole half an hour instead of the fifteen minutes he'd been given every day before. Ezio was grateful, more grateful than he would have expected, and as he left the room, he embraced her tightly.

She smiled awkwardly and patted his back.

Altair was moved into the private room later that evening. Nurses came and went every thirty minutes checking on him.

A wide, waterproof dressing had been put over his stomach and every so often the nurses would make note of how much fluid had drained from it into the little receptacle hooked onto the side of the bed.

Ezio tried not to notice all the tubes and wires protruding from beneath the blankets. They didn't matter. What mattered was the fact Altair was awake and alive and getting better.

Malik stayed another night, chatting quietly with Altair because the PI couldn't sleep and Ezio had curled up in the bed that had been his father's across the room exhausted, lulled into dreams by the whisper of Altair's voice.

The doctors didn't put another person in the room with Altair for three days, to which they were both immensely grateful, it meant Ezio could actually sleep lying down and Altair didn't have to worry about the younger man's neck getting stiff lying in that uncomfortable chair by the bed.

That third morning while Ezio had gone down to the cafeteria to find breakfast for himself, the doctors had put a man into the room with Altair.

He was an older man and his daughter had come in to care for him. Ezio hadn't asked what the old man was here for, the quiet way the doctors handled him told Ezio that it was not a condition the gentleman would recover from, and Ezio sat there quietly by Altair's bed and listened to the way the man's daughter told jokes and giggled and tried to lighten the mood. She never mentioned the illness, only smiled and helped him with everything she could, but Ezio could see in her face the news the doctor had told her after her father had come from surgery.

Ezio suspected it was colon cancer but didn't say anything. Whenever he went to the cafeteria he always brought something back for the older woman. A cup of coffee, a muffin. He hadn't seen her so much as leave her father's side since he'd been placed in the room the day before.

Altair seemed to pick up on the energy of the room and for a few terrifying hours, his condition had backslid. His temperature had gone up and his blood pressure had gone down.

Ezio felt his heart beating in his throat when the doctors had wheeled Altair out, a nurse holding an oxygen mask over his face, but within fifteen minutes Altair was back and looking a little loopy.

The nurse pulled Ezio aside and said in a soft voice; "He had a mild anxiety attack. They gave him something and he should be OK, just try to keep him calm."

Altair had forced himself to roll in his bed, clutching a pillow to his stomach, until he was propped more on his side than flat on his back and Ezio tucked towels around his shoulders and head, his nose wrinkled up, and using a basin and a cup insisted on washing Altair's hair. Grumbling playfully that it was filthy and he smelled.

Altair rolled his eyes but seemed to perk up at the prospect. His eyes slid closed and he dozed while Ezio finished and for good measure swiped a warm damp cloth over Altair's back where the wrinkles in the sheets had left red lines in his skin.

He was a little startled, realizing what he was doing, but didn't stop. Just remained perfectly quiet as he worked his way around Altair's torso, pausing to help the older man remove that hideous hospital smock.

There was something terribly intimate about this, Altair decided, and even though his body was too tired to physically respond to the stimulation, his mind was spinning with it.

Ezio had a light pink flush high on his cheeks but there was no hesitance in his hands, or his motions. Altair swallowed and just watched him, in awe, his heart beating a little faster.

There were too many tubes and wires from different monitors to allow him to put on a t-shirt as he'd demanded, but the words pattered out to nothing on his lips as Ezio worked, helping him get his arms into the slots of a clean smock then fastened it closed behind his neck.

They sat in silence for a long while, Ezio running his fingers through Altair's hair, training it to lay back where it belonged. Smiling when he managed it, although the PI's locks were a lot curlier than they usually were. He blamed the lack of appropriate conditioner, and spent a few minutes playing with it, before he realized that the other side of the room was very quiet behind the curtain and the lights were off.

Altair's eyes were warm and sleepy and dark and in that moment Ezio would have been happy to just stare into them forever. He stood and flicked off the light over Altair's bed and was settling himself in the recliner with the knitted blanket his father had left for him when he felt a light pressure on his wrist and looked down.

He could barely see Altair's outline against the sheets. Just pale shadows through the dark.

Altair's fingers were loose on his arm, gentle, tugging him forward and the shine in his eyes was visible even in the blackness.

Ezio swallowed and leaned close to whisper to him. "You need to sleep… I'll be right here—"

Altair pulled again, more insistently; "There's room in the bed. I'm not that fat."

Ezio rolled his eyes; "I am not sleeping in that bed with you," he motioned to the older man's stomach, "your wound is still open."

Altair's brow curled up in amusement, "Wound?" He chuckled, just a breath of a sound, "Wound implies violence. This isn't a wound, it's… it's an incision—" and drew Ezio's fingers to his collar bone, pressing them to the pale slant of scar tissue there. "That was a wound…"

Ezio swallowed a lump in his throat. "I don't want to hurt you."  
Altair smiled. He could feel it like a burst of warmth in his chest and where they touched.

"You won't hurt me… I promise. But I—" he swallowed, "I need you…"

Ezio put up a minimum of a struggle, sighing and trying to draw his hand free, but in the end he gave in simply because he understood. He needed Altair too, needed to feel the solid living pressure of the older man against his skin to reassure himself that Altair was, in fact still there.

He slid his shoes off, tucked them under the edge of the chair and changed quickly in the dark beside the bed into a pair of pajama pants Claudia had bought for him with little Italian flags all over them. Then eased himself onto the very edge of the bed a good ten inches from Altair.

"You're not gonna hurt me, Ezio… Really. Just like… like don't elbow me or anything. Really, the drain's gone, they're gonna stitch me up in the morning and I'll be home by Thursday. You're not going to hurt me unless you actively set out to do so."

Ezio felt his muscles relax and Altair's arm snaked around his chest and drew him back.

He could feel every inch of the PI pressed against his back. Could feel the firm plastic crinkle of the bandages, a few odd hard lines of tubes from the IV and catheter and God it felt good just to have Altair warm and ALIVE against him. It was terrifying thinking about how close he'd come to losing the man he loved to this. To a freaking ruptured appendix! He pressed himself back against Altair harder, wanting to somehow merge the two of them into something new and impervious to illness and pain.

Altair's left hand was rummaging on the bedside table coming back with a little box of tissues and going back for something else. Ezio closed his eyes and just let himself be completely enveloped with the firm surety of Altair's presence, his senses fading as he began to doze.

Something clicked above his head. A faint sound almost like snapping fingers, and he felt Altair's lips press into the base of his neck. Warm, open mouthed kisses across the back of his shoulder. He shivered and leaned into it.

And then there was a hand snaking under his shirt, palm flat, fingers spread, warm and lightly calloused, rubbing against the ripples of his abdominal muscles, circling around his navel, softly, but dragging an electric charge in its path.

Ezio shivered and his brows knitted together as he rose slowly back through the layers of sleep he'd started to accumulate. Those fingers slipped beneath the waistband of his boxers, bypassing his pants completely. He gasped, startled, enthralled, a weird mash of emotions crashing over him in that one instant needworryoutrageNEED and Altair whispered into the tender flesh behind his ear.

"Relax… this is for you…" His breath hitched, "Jesus, Ezio, I-I love you so much."

He wanted to protest, part of him did anyway. The sensible part of his mind was shouting in his head, thrashing against the stimulation. You're in a hospital room, in a sick man's bed with people just a few feet away on the other side of the curtain and nurses are gonna come in any minute and… oh shit that feels fantastic.

Ezio whined when Altair's fingers retreated but that whine turned quickly into a gasp he had to stifle into his own wrist when the PI's hand returned, slick from the bottle of lotion he'd confiscated from the bedside table. The same lotion Ezio had massaged into his sore back hours ago after he'd helped him bathe.

Altair's hand was firm but oh so gentle, wrapping around him and drawing him out, slick and warm and alive and perfect.

Ezio didn't dare move lest he accidentally hurt the older man, instead he caught the PI's left hand and drew it forward, pulling his lonely little finger between his lips and letting his tongue rove over it.

Altair whined into the back of his neck, his breath hot and labored while he continued layering open-mouthed, eager kisses across Ezio's neck and shoulder.

Ezio had never really been one to enjoy voyeurism, but there was something undeniably hot about this. Something primal and natural and he let himself be drowned in it. In the need to prove his and Altair's continued existence.

He came quietly, back arching, hips pumping quickly into Altair's fist and he thought there was something unbearably intense about it. About such a quiet, vanilla thing as letting Altair touch him and bring him pleasure when in his own mind at least, he should have been the one offering Altair the release of it.  
Altair had been sick, had been in pain and almost died. Ezio had been sitting around worried and biting his nails bloody and doing everything possible to make sure he was well enough to truly take care of Altair when he was healthy enough to need him.

Altair was still kissing his neck. Soft, tender little blossoms of warmth pressed into his skin while he cleaned his hand and Ezio's lower regions and tucked the younger man away again safely behind his shorts. Hand a firm and reassuring weight low on his stomach.

Altair was quiet for a while and they laid there holding one another in the silence as their breathing slowed.

"I remember your voice…"

Ezio's ears strained to pick up Altair's whispers.

"I remember being in pain… remember feeling empty—" He swallowed, "I remember my mother's face leaning over me and telling me it was OK that I could let go now, that I didn't have to worry anymore… but then I heard your voice. I… I don't remember what you said, but I know it was you…" He didn't finish whatever story he'd started with that. Just held his lips firm and still against the nape of Ezio's neck and let his breath shudder out of him.

Ezio swallowed a knot in his throat. He knew somehow that Altair hadn't meant Irene Hayes when he'd said 'mother'. And he felt cold inside for a moment realizing Altair was telling him he'd been conscious of his struggle, and that he knew he could very well have died, but he hadn't. He'd chosen to stay, he wanted to stay. Maybe that had been the deciding factor, maybe it was just his mind reaffirming his own continued existence. Ezio didn't know, but he felt tears building in his eyes.

"You didn't have to stay, Ezio… I-I would have been fine here with the doctors. You could have gone home and been safe and warm and you could have come to visit me when I was out of the ICU… But, you didn't. You stayed, y-you came every day. Even when I was unconscious and didn't know you were there, you still were," Altair's voice faded off into strained tones and he swallowed with difficulty; "Nobody's ever done that for me before."

Ezio pulled his left hand closer, kissed a rough heart shape into his palm and whispered the words into it.

"I love you."

Altair shuddered and he pulled Ezio closer, hiding his face in the back of the younger man's neck and making a pattern across his heated skin with the chilled tip of his nose.

Ezio recognized it and he closed his eyes tightly, wishing he could burn it into his skin for all the world to see. He kissed Altair's scarred left hand again, settling back against the firm chest behind him. "Get some sleep, Altair, I'll be here in the morning… I promise."

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	78. Chapter 78

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_Special Thanks to Ayazani for reading over this chapter for me! *hugs*_

_Sorry it took so long guys, baby things and writer's block and now Hubby and I are sick =3= Real Life is a big ol' bitch…_

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**Chapter 78; Here, There and Back Again**

Altair looked smug, which Ezio couldn't quite understand, but then again he loved it. It had taken a little over two hours in the operating theater to close Altair's wound—_Incision,_ he told himself. And now that he was out, lounging in a drug induced daze in the post OP Ezio couldn't help but try to choke down giggles and attempt to not look at the older man.

Smug, definitely smug. Altair was grinning and he had his arms flung up over his head eyes heavily lidded as the doctor checked the dressings on his stomach.

Ezio was very amused by it all, because Altair it seemed was very flirty when he was under the influence of a sedative. It was harmless really, or Ezio may have felt insulted. But Altair had been grinning like that the whole time the doctor was there, hands cool and firm moving over his body.

Ezio had a sneaking suspicion Altair wanted him to be a little jealous, maybe the older man had enjoyed feeling taken care of these past few days and seeing Ezio act so confident… Or maybe he was just drowsy and not quite settled back into his head yet.

Ezio was too amused to be jealous, although he did lean forward and kiss Altair's inner arm near his shoulder and look pointedly at the doctor. The doctor who blushed and tried to hide a smile of his own.

So strange…

Altair slept most of the afternoon away and Ezio watched him for a while, then watched a Mork and Mindy Marathon on TV for a few hours and finally scribbled a quick note which he was able to wedge between Altair's sleeping fingers without waking him and went to find something to eat.

Altair was still asleep when he returned so he took the note back and sat cross legged in his chair by the bed and devoured his double serving of cheese fries slowly while he tried to find something interesting to watch.

Altair woke a little while after that and scratched his nose for a while, happy to do it now that the feeding tube was gone, and they watched television in silence for a while, every so often grunting wordlessly when something funny happened.

The Nutritionist came in not long after that, Ezio still hadn't finished his fries and delivered Altair's food.

"The doctor wants you on semi-solids," She said pushing the tray over the bed. "So you've got a few different kinds of ice cream, jello and some chicken broth."

Ezio thought it wasn't exactly appetizing himself, but Altair tore into it as if he were starving and even tried to get a cup of coffee, but the Nutritionist said he could only have a light tea, coffee wasn't good for his stomach.

Altair grumbled but took what he could get.

Ezio slept in his bed again that night, turned so they faced one another, Altair tucked under his chin, the PI's arm draped over his waist with a pillow between them to brace his stomach. Ezio stayed awake longer than he'd expected, with his face pressed into the older man's hair, whispering nonsense and endearments as he dozed.

The catheter came out the next morning and Ezio winced in sympathy when Altair's head dug back into the pillow and his nose wrinkled up from the pull of the tube being removed. The PI spent thirty minutes holding himself through the sheet and scowling at any doctor or nurse that came near the room.

Ezio hoped he never had to experience such a thing himself. If his father's and Altair's reactions were any indication it was a wholly unpleasant situation.

After lunch—more semi-solids for Altair, pizza for Ezio, who grinned and gloated over the melting cheese and the lovely, beautiful grease while Altair scowled over his pudding and broth—The nurse came in and said he wanted Altair to try and walk around a little, to stretch his legs, and Ezio got his first look at the 'incision'.

The pressure wrappings were removed and Altair assumed the position of lying back with his arms over his head while the nurse peeled back the gauze and instructed him on how to change the dressing. It was meticulous, cleaning around the stitches and the dark red line as long as Ezio's hand across Altair's abdomen. As well as the two smaller 'pick holes' above and below it where the drain's anchors had been. Letting the antiseptic dry before daubing an antibiotic cream in place and covering it with a waterproof dressing. "When you get home you wanna keep the area dry and free of debris. If a stitch comes out or looks like it's getting infected call the doctor or bring him in to the outpatient clinic. It might be nothing, but you don't want to assume that and then find out it was something serious."

Ezio nodded. He could feel Altair's eyes on him, watching him, and his face burned under the scrutiny.

The nurse helped them get Altair dressed and showed Ezio the correct way to offer support since the PI's legs were too weak to hold him upright without help. Altair joked that he felt like they were giving him an atomic wedgie holding the back of his pants like that, and they shuffled slowly out into the hallway.

"Stay close, and if you need it we've got chairs at intervals down the hallway, just grab one," She pointed to the wheelchairs folded neatly in little niches down the length of the hallway, then guided Altair's hand to the grip on his IV pole and off they went.

The first ten or so feet they were absolutely quiet, just the sound of shared breath, then Altair chuckled and glanced sideways at Ezio, how the younger man's eyes were focused on his sock clad feet. "You're pretty good at this."

"I'm a fast learner."

"Well, when I'm old, broken, blind, incontinent and senile—"

"I will walk with you…" Ezio smiled, "And I'll hire six sexy gay nurses to cater to your every beck and call…"

Altair snorted and shook his head, feeling a lightness in his chest because although the second half of that statement had been a joke, the first part had been said with all sincerity and it meant worlds to him. His legs shook and his left knee tried to buckle, but Ezio gripped him tighter and lifted him back up, holding him with one hand while he pulled a chair from its resting place and unfolded it, helping the PI to sit and rest for a moment before they attempted any more, or decided to go back to the room.

Altair lifted a hand and covered Ezio's where it was hanging at his side and pressed his brow to his knuckles; "I love you… You know that, right?"

Ezio felt his breath hitch in his throat and leaned forward to tilt Altair's chin up with a curled finger and brush their lips together. He didn't have to say anything, the warmth in the smile he felt growing on Altair's face as well as the same in his own chest was all he would ever need.

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Altair went home Friday evening. It was quiet, Ezio had called his family to tell them, had called Malik to warn him, and they'd taken a cab from the hospital to the print shop.

Altair was half asleep slumped against his shoulder the whole way hugging a pillow he'd been given. It was dark and raining and the city was a flurry of sleepy activity around them.

Malik was waiting at the door for them with an umbrella, and Saree was at his elbow wearing a wide brimmed yellow rain hat and a burgundy and green polka-dotted rain coat with matching boots. She smiled happily and hugged Altair gently around the waist once Ezio and Malik had gotten him inside, then dashed back out to help her father carry in the bags. Malik pinned his umbrella between his jaw and his shoulder and paid the driver then shooed his daughter back into the shop with an amused wrinkle of his nose and a flap of his hand.

Ezio glanced over his shoulder but didn't slow down, as he and Altair shuffled through the work room and to the elevator. They didn't talk much, didn't need to really. It was a silent bond they shared now. Ezio had tuned his senses to pick up on the older man's needs before Altair even knew he needed them. He felt a strange form of pride that he could anticipate when the PI's legs were getting tired, or when his tender abdominal muscles were going to start cramping if he didn't lie down. It was… was a powerful feeling being responsible, even such a little bit, for another person's well being. Altair trusted him to do this and he was going to do it well.

Altair's floor was dark, quiet and warm but felt so strange and foreign almost. It had been more than two weeks since Altair had set foot in his own bedroom and to do so now, after so long made him realize how utterly uncomfortable the hospital beds had been. It made him realize how close he'd come to never sleeping under his blankets with his face buried in his pillow and his arms wrapped around Ezio, staring at those orange curtains ever again.

He sank down onto his bed with his eyes closed and sat there while Ezio moved around, flicking on the lights and turning down the bed, crouching to untie Altair's shoes and pull them off, peeling off those irritating textured hospital socks and replacing them with a pair of the PI's own.

Altair smirked and tilted his chin upward relaxing and letting Ezio move him as he wished. Working his jacket off and chafing his arms before he guided with gentle hands until the older man was laying down, peeking under his shirt at the bandage taped to his stomach—checking it for stains no doubt—then pulling the blankets up and lowering himself down on the opposite side of the bed on top of the covers.

For a long while they just laid there in silence, Altair relishing in the feel of his memory foam bed topper and his sheets, worn just to the absolute softest cotton can get. The differing levels of firmness in his many pillows, arranged just the way he liked them when Ezio wasn't there to replace the goose down one he threw his arm over. The lingering smell of laundry detergent. He didn't even mind the diffused scent of bleach where Malik had gotten in to the room at least four days ago and cleaned things. He was home, he was safe and alive and minus his appendix, he was whole.

A sly smirk curled his lips upward; "I'm too tired to enjoy it properly, but I have an uncontrollable urge to have sex right now…"

Ezio was quiet for a few seconds, then giggled like a madman.

"Just for the principle of the thing, you know?" Altair whispered and gestured to the room in general. "No strangers a curtain's thickness away, no nurses running in and out every fifteen minutes."

Ezio's giggling grew wilder.

Altair yawned; "We could be as loud as we wanted and I guarantee Malik wouldn't say anything… He's expecting it he's put Zafir to bed early and Gadil and Kalila are probably watching a movie in Malik and Hadiya's bedroom. Saree's gonna go stay the night at a friend's house… Seriously, they want us to have sex."

Ezio was shaking all over in silent laughter.

Altair turned to look at him lazily, that grin still on his face. "We'd be wasting a golden opportunity."

Ezio finally reigned in his giggles and lie there grinning at Altair with his lower lip between his teeth, his face flushed from laughter and his eyes sparkling mischievously. "Too bad you're so tired, huh?"

Altair's grin widened into a smile and he lifted a hand to trace fingertips over Ezio's cheek in the darkness. "This is enough."

Ezio leaned forward and pressed a slow kiss to his lips putting all his love and appreciation and unbound JOY into it.

Altair returned it with as much energy as he could muster—more than he'd thought he'd had—breathing in Ezio's scent and savoring that unique spice that was all him.

"We'll have other days," Ezio said quietly, enjoying the warmth of the smile he felt growing on Altair's lips again. "And as soon as you're well enough for it… I'm gonna make you come so hard you won't walk straight for a week."

"That a fact?"

"Yeah… It is."

Altair chuckled and kissed him again…

And again…

And again and again and again—

Ezio let his breath out in a low growl and caught Altair's lip between his teeth, pinching it just enough to cause the older man's brows to curl down and his eyes to flash hungrily in the dark.

They pulled apart panting, fingers biting into one another's arms and jaws.

Ezio swiped his tongue across his lips and he could feel his heart pounding behind his ribs like a drum.

"Fuck it…" And he rolled onto his back, shoving his pants and underwear off in one slick move beneath the blankets.

Altair whined and reached for him, brows crooked up in relief; "Oh thank Christ!"

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Altair didn't want to move from his back. The muscles it took to perform such… activities, were sore beyond comprehension or simply being held together with suture. No, movement really wouldn't be a good idea considering.

Ezio though, had an idea… a wonderful, fantastic, hot—Jesus CHRIST, Ezio that's fuckin' sexy— idea

Ezio locked the door and dropped the blind over the frosted glass, pulled the curtains and turned on every light in the room. He grinned… An impish—crooked, self-satisfied little smirk of a grin and peeled his shirt up over his head by inches. As if every beat of his heart exposed more and more flesh, until he was straddling Altair's hips bare as the day God made him gazing down through thick lashes at Altair with that little SMIRK on his face.

Altair looked up at him, hands limp and curled by his head on the pillow eyes taking in everything—every bare centimeter of skin, every little scar or freckle, every whisp of downy fuzz on his thighs and between his hips, the trickling little trail south of his navel… the proud heavy jut of his sex.

Jesus, Mary and John Bon Jovi, Ezio Auditore was showing no sign of past trauma—no hesitation, no fear in his eyes. Even though the mark high on his inner thigh was plainly visible he seemed completely at ease with it, and himself.

Altair swallowed thickly but didn't dare move his hands, didn't dare so much as breathe deeply because he was very much not in charge of this situation. This was all Ezio, and a hot thrill of excitement rolled up and down his spine, prickling his skin with goose bumps and tightening his nipples into hard, dark little nubs beneath his shirt.

"Ezio…" He said in a hushed—breathless voice. "If I ever asked you to… would you agree—" he swallowed, trying to draw moisture into his mouth and throat; "Fuck… would you…"

"Hush…" Ezio felt his own fingers trailing down the center of his chest, over his belly and teasing around the root of his sex.

He felt himself shiver as he leaned slowly to the side, arching his back and sliding a hand into the bedside drawer for the tube Altair kept there. Drawing the flat cap up from just above Altair's bandaging, under his shirt toward his piercing.

The PI gave a hard shudder and his eyes rolled back. He felt the delicate pop of each button passing through its eyelet like a physical blow. Like a whip lash, or a light smack with a riding crop.

Usually, when… such things, became desirable, he'd looked to a female partner, women looked so much more attractive in leather and diamonds than most of the men into such things… Now though, Altair imagined Ezio standing over him wearing—

Ezio peeled back the flaps of his shirt and traced the path the cap had taken up Altair's side with the tip of his tongue.

"Oh, fuck…"

Ezio felt it like a punch to the gut. A hard HOT drill that throbbed right down into his erection, circled backward through his balls and caused every muscle south of there to spasm and flutter in memory of the last time Altair had been beneath him like this. How powerful he'd felt being in control… How damned sexy it had been to draw those needy, helpless mewling sounds from the PI's throat.

"Just relax, don't move…" Ezio mouthed at the side of his throat, senses filled with the taste and smell of Altair. Even mixed with the smell of antiseptic and hospital sheets, he was all Ezio felt he'd ever need. "I'm gonna take good care of you."

Altair released a broken titter of a sound; "You… you really have no idea how many of my naughty nurse fantasies you're fulfilling right now."

Ezio felt his composure slip for half a minute and he bowed over Altair giggling into Altair's shoulder. Altair giggled back.

He managed to control himself a few seconds later and rocked back into a sitting position schooling his face into a cool, calm expression; Altair was thinking Naughty Nurse… He could try it. He'd never really had a fantasy about nurses himself, but that didn't mean he couldn't pretend, just this once… Hell, he may even like it.

"Right… I think I need to take your temperature…" He picked up Altair's hand and rubbed it firmly between his own, working his way across the scarred palm and out each of the four fingers before he pulled the first between his lips.

Altair swallowed and his other hand twitched on the pillow his lips curling up. He cleared his throat quietly and spoke in a growling whisper. "You know… that other nurse—the one at the hospital… had an affinity for taking my temperature anally… She said you get a better r-reading—" His breath hitched as Ezio's tongue swirled around his finger again, teeth gently scraping down its length. "—M-maybe you should try that."

Ezio dragged his teeth across Altair's finger again as he withdrew it, flicking his tongue once over the tip before he pressed the PI's hand to his chest and flipped the cap of the tube open. "Yeah… yeah, we could try that."

Altair's cheeks passed pink and went right into red and his tongue swiped over his lips. Ezio shifted his weight to the side and unseated himself, tucking his legs beneath him neatly as he settled by the older man's hip.

Altair swallowed and watched with glazed, dilated eyes as Ezio sat the tube aside and hooked his fingers in the waistband of his pants, drawing the soft fleece material down slowly, dragging the elastic waistband torturously across his erection on the way down. He couldn't help the soft whine that escaped as the young Italian managed to get them bunched around his ankles and came back up for his underwear.

Altair tried to stay as still as possible, the hand on Ezio's chest an anchor, fingers flexing every so often and petting against the flesh and developing musculature. Ezio was filling out quite nicely, he decided. He was still slender, but it was becoming obvious that the younger man could pack a punch. When he moved his muscles flexed visibly beneath the skin, and the state of his biceps and triceps convinced Altair that his young lover had been using the pergola on his parent's back porch like a chin-up bar. He could just imagine it and damn did it make a pretty picture.

Sometimes he just wanted to lay Ezio out on the bed and trace each and every muscle with his tongue because it was blindingly obvious that if Ezio had chosen to he could be a beast. Could take his once malnourished frame and within just a few short weeks and turn it into something that looked like it had been sculpted of solid marble.

_I've got it bad… Oh, hell, I've got it so baaaaaaaaaaad_. He smiled though, from under his lashes as Ezio leaned forward and made a pattern of kisses down the center of his chest and around his bandaging.

And then Ezio had gotten his underwear down, inch by torturous inch and hooked one hand behind his right knee, lifting the leg long enough to push sweats and underwear off his foot and settle the limb back against the bed, his knee cocked slightly outward.

Altair drew his left leg upward slowly, scraping his heel against the mattress to free it as well.

Ezio's eyes were heavily lidded and he pulled his lips across Altair's lower abdomen slowly, letting the edges of his teeth nibble at the flesh.

Altair's eyes fluttered almost shut when he felt the younger man's stubbled chin graze the base of his arousal and instantly his mind was inundated with images of Ezio's lips and tongue on him. He tried to shake the images away, he wouldn't ask that of Ezio—it would be nice, yes, but he wouldn't ask, he knew how tedious Ezio's patience with that aspect of sex was. Having it done to you felt amazing, but being the one to do it was often an entirely different matter and Ezio's comfort mattered more to him than that did.

Ezio though, it seemed, was willing to push the envelope, because he turned his head and traced up the entirety of Altair's length with his lips and the wet-hot blade of his tongue.

The reaction this drew from the PI was worth the twinge at the back of his mind.

Altair's head tossed on the pillow and his free hand twitched, fingers brushing and pulling at his parted lips. Brows drawn together and lifted in the center in awe of his pleasure… And the noise.

Ezio growled in his chest.

That noise was like liquid desire shot into his veins.

His sex gave a hard heavy throb between his legs and he felt emboldened angling his head into the contact a little more. And the next thing he knew he had the flared tip of Altair's arousal pressed to his lower lip. His heart was jumping in his chest erratically and he had to take in a slow deep breath—

The hand Altair had had on his chest had slipped up to his shoulder and he felt the fingers curl into the PI's palm a gentle weight against his shoulder blade. Little warning bells were going off in the back of his mind and he pulled back slowly, letting his eyes shut and spoke firmly in his own mind.

No. It's OK… This time, it's OK.

And the alarms hushed…

He almost laughed, but instead decided he wasn't going to tempt fate and wrapped one hand around what he wasn't ready to fit into his mouth, flexing his fingers rhythmically.

The variety of sounds that came out of Altair's mouth was truly astounding. Whines and whimpers and whispers of Ezio's name interspersed with expletives. Ezio never thought he could find hearing someone say 'fuck' and his name like that erotic. But it was… holy shit, it really was.

He managed somehow, to get a little of the lubricant worked out onto his fingers one handed, and he laid a stripe of the stuff up the underside of Altair's cock and inched his hand lower.

He could feel the anticipation in the air like an electric charge. He'd never done this to another man before… been the one to touch and control the encounter, but it was fast becoming something he would indeed like to repeat.

Altair was very warm down there, and damnably sensitive. Just the slightest brush of his fingers made muscles flex in the PI's thighs and stomach.

Before that moment he'd never once truly given it a thought as to how Altair most enjoyed sex. A fleeting trauma induced thought maybe, but never an honest, considering thought. He wondered then, if it would feel as good to Altair as it did for him, to be slowly, and gently opened and ohsocarefully eased into. Would he enjoy that slick hot burn of muscles stretching around the man he loved? The closeness of it. How it felt as if you were slowly merging into one complete entity…

What did Altair feel like on the inside?

He took a long moment, just petting his fingers over the PI's skin, feeling it twitch and hearing his gasps and sighs of pleasure, the agitated careful rock of his hips, and then Ezio turned his hand and pressed experimentally with one finger, finding the muscles so ready to give beneath his intrusion.

It felt very similar to when he breached himself. Heat and the flex of muscle but he found the fact that this was Altair—ALTAIR—made it ten times as exciting.

Here he was with Altair's cock in his mouth and a finger in his ass…

His throat locked up and Ezio felt for a moment that he couldn't breathe—was suffocating, choking and caged in and had to lift his head quickly away to breathe. He swallowed reflexively a few times, the bitter salty taste still thick on the back of his tongue.

"Easy…" Altair's knuckles brushed gently over his cheek, catching and wiping away a thin string of moisture. He was panting and his eyes were heavily dilated, sweat standing out in little beads on his brow. The look of concern on his face melted as soon as Ezio nodded that he was alright. He swallowed the dryness in his throat and took a breath, settling back into the little game; "Do… do I feel fevered to you? I—I feel fevered."

Ezio for half a second thought he was being serious, and had to school his features from concerned, to coolly detached. "I don't know… Let me take a look," He eased his finger deeper, head tilted to the side to watch his digit's progression into the PI's body. It was hypnotizing a little bit and he felt a tantalizing little thought bloom into a certainty in the back of his mind.

Yes, he wanted this… one day—not today, but someday, he wanted to do this to Altair for real… wanted to open the man up and slowly—tantalizingly—sink his dick into him.

It was almost startling when he found what he'd been looking for in there—Altair's arousal gave a visible twitch and the PI's eyes fluttered almost shut.

"Oh, yes…" Ezio swallowed and had to clear his throat to make his voice obey him; "You're much too hot… We'll j-just have to work that out."

Altair's body welcomed a second finger, taking him in almost greedily, and Ezio watched it all, barely even realizing when the hand on his shoulder slipped back to his chest, pressing over his heart, and his own lifted to meet it. Holding it there and reassuring himself that it was real.

Altair was alive, a little worse for wear, but alive and hugging his fingers so tightly—hot and hidden and secret and it became less about a silly little bedroom game and more about reassuring himself that Altair was truly OK.

Doctors could tell him, show him charts and long words on a page, could teach him how to change bandages and tend to stitches and make sure Altair took his medication, but none of it would truthfully and completely reassure him that the man he loved was alright. He had to figure that out for himself.

So he rubbed, and tasted and petted and stroked across Altair's body while his fingers probed within, whispering into his skin; 'You're OK? You're really, honestly OK?'

And Altair whispered it back, one hand over his heart, eyes locked on Ezio's, breath hitching and whining out between his parted lips; 'Yes yes yes.'

Ezio could barely see anymore, his eyes had gone watery and his limbs were shaking and he made a mess with the lube on the sheets and got some under his arm somehow, but that didn't matter, all that mattered was the slide of his body and Altair's. His hand wrapped tightly around both of them and the gentle rock of his hips. Kisses and shattered breath against shoulders and Altair's arms around his neck, holding him. Words breathed into his ear; "I'm OK… We're OK."

-And shuddering, gaspingwhiningthrusting, little deaths and first breaths.

Together, one— ALIVE.

Altair was back, he was home and nothing else mattered.

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	79. Chapter 79

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_Short Chapter this time._

_Baby Update; We're considering the names Patrick Brynn Morgan, and Jack (Jackson) Elias Morgan... We may also consider Abram Scott Morgan *personally I like the Scott part* What do you guys think?_

_Secondly, I'm off work for a week, so I'm going to be writing copious amounts of fic for the next five days and posting previews of a few I've had open for a while. And Hubby has broken his teeth on fic and I'm trying to get him to post something else on his DA account... Speaking of DA accounts, hubby set me up with one. Do you guys think I should post Fast Cars there as well or leave it exclusively to ?_

_ANYWHO! On to the chapter!_

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**Chapter 79; The Work **

Altair slept until well past noon in a boneless sprawl across his bed. He made soft little snoring noises when his head got turned back too far, and his fingers flexed rhythmically in the sheet. He looked relaxed in a way he hadn't his whole stay in the hospital and Ezio thought it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Ezio sat for hours, arms crossed on top of his knees, chin to his wrists, just watching him do it. Every little twitch and sigh and thin spidery line on the PI's face was cataloged. Memorized and Ezio decided he couldn't have spent those four hours between his own waking and Altair's in a better way. He sat there for a long time just studying the PI, and reaffirming himself that everything was OK and the man he loved was safe and sound, well on his way to full recovery.

Altair wouldn't be running across rooftops anytime soon, but he was getting there. And it was a huge relief that Ezio knew he could prevent any setbacks by being vigilant. Changing Altair's bandages, and making sure he took his medication and rested. He had control over part of his lover's life and as much of a thrill that it was, he couldn't wait until the older man was well enough to have that control back again and Ezio could relax back into this new dynamic. He'd seen the looks in Altair's eyes. The joyous realization that Ezio was still capable of surprising him and showing just exactly how strong he could be. Stronger than either of them had imagined. He was proud of himself for having made it through this turmoil so well and it awakened the knowledge within himself that yes, he was capable. More than capable... He wanted to do this, wanted to help and learn and show his strength because each step he took was a step closer to an ordinary life the life not so very long ago that he'd been convinced he'd never have because of what had happened.

He smiled, brightly into his folded arms and took a moment to breathe and enjoy the quiet of the moment.

He'd heard soft sounds in the hallway. The door at the end of the hall opening and two sets of footsteps coming past the PI's room toward the office. Hushed voices;

"Huh, he must be home…"

"Good, now maybe you'll finally be quiet!"

And a few seconds later the door to Altair's office opened and admitted the two young men.

Part of Ezio listened to them moving about, the soft shift of paper and the whirr of the combo printer. A fax and a quiet argument.

"I don't trust him!"

"He's a snitch, of course you're not supposed to trust him. Any guy who would sell out his friends would hold no reserves when selling you out as well!"

"Then why in God's name are we about to trust him?"

"I've got a hunch."

"Oh, well… that makes everything alright then! Desmond's got a bloody hunch! Someone throw a fucking parade!"

"Shaun, this job is more than just facts, you've got to take into account the human element. We're bound by law, just like the cops, to do certain things. But we can also do things the cops can't, like look into these leads… You don't trust Weasel, that's fine… Altair didn't either apparently because he didn't even attempt to contact him after he called in—I on the other hand, think he's on to something. SO, we're gonna go check it out."

"When? I'm not going tonight. I've got—I've got a date."

Desmond tittered loudly; "You? A date? With who, your right hand?"

Shaun made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat; "No, Desmond… I'm not emulating your normal Friday nights… Sorry, I'm not that much of a fan."

"I know you just insulted me… I'm not exactly sure how, but I know you just insulted me, so fuck you."

Shaun sighed and Ezio could just hear the loathing in that soft noise.

Altair, as if he could feel the tension in his office through some ethereal set of antenna, like a moth or a bug of some sort, made a sleepy buzzing noise in his throat as he woke. Almost as if he were trying to growl but couldn't find the energy to accomplish it AND force himself to wakefulness in the same moment.

Ezio smiled, thinking the pouty, disagreeable faces Altair made when he was fighting to stay asleep were absolutely adorable. Then he took a few moments to reconcile the part of himself that actually thought Altair was adorable. Like a fuzzy fat kitten or something... He wanted to pinch the older man's cheeks and coo at him.

The PI blinked a few times dazedly and took a deep breath, lifting a hand to scrub his face then allow it to flop to the bed again with a yawn. When his eyes eventually settled on Ezio his expression went from blank and slightly annoyed at his own consciousness, to grinning and mischievous. He liked the way Ezio's hair was frizzy in the back from the pillow, the warm flush of his cheeks. The sparkle in his eyes. He liked even more the heavy solid memories of the younger man hovering over him, settled between his thighs- the memories of rocking up against the underside of Ezio's cock and the sensation of those thin long fingers sliding into him. He shivered, some still sleeping portion of his brain supplying him with hazy memories of Ezio returning from the bathroom with a warm soapy cloth to clean them up. Pressing soft loving kisses across his chest and throat and across the white gauze taped to his abdomen.

Why was it such a turn on? Then he realized he didn't really care why, and just settled back to enjoy it.

"Mornin'," He said in a breath.

Ezio smiled, still hugging his knees; "Morning."

He could still see Altair in his mind's eye spread out on the bed writhing gently in pleasure, soft whines escaping his throat like prayers, eyes fluttering, face flushed. He couldn't keep himself from grinning, knowing just from the color on Altair's cheeks and the shine in his eyes that they were remembering the same thing.

The secret stillness of the morning lasted for a ten-count longer than Ezio expected it to, with the other two men just next door being who they were. Then Desmond let out an exasperated groan;

"Fuck, I'm hungry… Shaun, go get me a pizza."

"Yeah, hmmm… NO."

"Aw, come on! I'm the one with the actual license here, you're just the fucking intern! You have to do what I say."

"Desmond, if I leave no work will be done until I've returned… You may be the one with the license, but you have an abhorring lack of respect for paperwork and your organization skills, as well as your handwriting are atrocious."

"At least I don't spend the whole day talking out of my ass."

"No, you spend the whole day sitting on it, that's a great improvement, Des… Really."

Altair was smiling still, amused, grateful to be home and alive. He reached out and patted Ezio's knee; "Come on, we've got work to do."

Ezio stretched and climbed slowly to his feet, fetching one of Altair's hooded sweatshirts and a pair of loose cotton pants from his closet and helping the PI into it before he steadied the older man so he could stand. He offered his shoulder and arm for support and they shuffled soundlessly into the hall and toward the office door.

Altair didn't usually leave the door open like this, he felt the noise from upstairs tended to create too much of a distraction for Desmond's so easily distract-able personality, as well as his own. So he was a little surprised to see the door standing open, even more so when he and Ezio came in and noticed that Desmond had taken up Altair's desk and was seated there bent forward reading through sheaves of paper printed with a controlled clinical hand. It was a fax, notes from the FBI from years before. Notes not even Altair had been allowed access to when he'd been released from the hospital after the stabbing.

It was strange seeing Desmond sitting there wearing a black T-shirt and an equally black hooded jacket with at least a week's worth of scruff on his face and new lines around his eyes. Altair would be the first to admit that he thought Desmond looked natural in this setting. That for the first time, he wasn't worried about what kind of PI the younger man would make, that since Altair had fallen sick, Desmond had picked up the slack spectacularly. The _would_ no longer mattered… Desmond _was_ a PI… and he had the potential to be a damned good one too.

"Look at you two… acting all professional… It's so cute!" Altair cooed as he and Ezio came into the room.

Desmond's head snapped up and he stared in shock at Altair for all of fifteen seconds, he seemed to have to physically control himself, because he bit his lip and looked down at the papers in his hand. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but he still had trouble looking at Altair and Ezio together, still felt... felt strangely jealous and he didn't know what hurt more, shame at his own actions and thoughts or the realization that he was jealous.

Shaun cleared his throat from his side of the room where he was meticulously going through a file that was considerably thicker than it had been when Altair had given it to them. He nodded in the older PI's direction and looked back down at his work; "Good to see you up and about… Hope it was a pleasant vacation… Desmond, give the man back his desk—"

Altair lifted his head and spoke loud enough to drown out the last part of Shaun's sentence, as well as regain Desmond's attention; "No… you're on point this case," He pulled out the chair to Desmond's empty desk and lowered himself into it, drawing Ezio down for a quick, chaste kiss as the Italian left the room, saying he'd go down the street and get pizza—No anchovies, ham or sausage. And you'd better not move from that chair without help, Altair. I mean it!

Desmond watched Ezio go, then motioned to the big desk in front of him; "Seriously, I don't mind moving. It's your desk."

Altair was quiet for a few seconds, just looking at him, how strangely enough he looked exactly the same but there was something older about the light in his eyes. Something stronger for proving to himself that he COULD do it without Altair; "No… it's not. I'm just consulting. This is all you."

Desmond looked at him curiously but didn't argue, just swallowed back a lump of confusing emotion in his throat—let his breath out slowly, and set back to work; "Okay… Agent Matheson retired last year, but I was able to talk to him and his former director. They agreed and sent me copies of his notes from The Case…" Altair had had many cases over the years, but there was only the one that stood out in his memory when Desmond said that.

"Anything you'd be willing to share with me?"

Desmond was quiet for a minute, considering the proper procedure he'd been taught when dealing with a 'consultant'. Altair was playing this to the book and it wasn't until then that Desmond realized this wasn't just Altair respecting the boundaries of separation of personal life and professional, it was also a test. A test to see if Desmond could really do it on his own.

There was a big difference between knowing the material and being able to apply it in a workplace setting. Desmond knew the material by heart, now he had to translate his knowledge into actual work, had to prove to Altair that he could do it and do it well. Altair had given him this case because he hadn't been thinking clearly, because he didn't trust anybody but himself to do it, but knew by law that he couldn't do it, so he'd given it to his proxy, someone who knew his methods and his reasoning and could apply it within the boundaries of the law.

Altair had given him this case not even considering the emotional toll it would take on Desmond, but in the end it had probably been the only case that would have solidified the fact in Desmond's mind that this was not a game. This work he'd chosen as his life's ambition wasn't just living detective stories. It was serious, and could be deadly.

It may have been a mistake to give the case to Desmond, but it was the best case for him to break his teeth on. It would be the key stone to his career. This would either make him… or it would break him.

Desmond swallowed and sat his jaw. This was a test he would not fail. He didn't mention Mickey the Weasel, or the 'date' to meet him and discuss what he knew because in a PI/Consultant relationship, the PI never revealed more to his consultant than what that person needed to know to complete their job.

"Right," Desmond said paging through the notes; "Matheson alludes in his notes to a Wolf Pack—"He wetted his lips; "A group of sexual predators that 'hunt' together, forming Alpha Beta relationships where the Beta hunts to please the Alpha and finds s-satisfaction himself through the Alpha's… They believe that a Wolf Pack was responsible for the kidnappings. I have a few leads I'm going to follow up on, but it seems the symbol this Pack uses to identify itself is the same symbol that was painted on the wall at the crime scene. I believe they're connected."

Altair nodded, he'd had the same feeling himself and this just confirmed it. "Alright, what do you need me to do?"

"You can lend me your expertise in the area and help me decide which of these ten men already arrested fits the Alpha profile… Because I—" He sealed his lips and left it at that. Altair didn't need to know everything. Desmond sat his jaw and shrugged, motioning toward Shaun and the photographs the Brit had been quickly collecting from other files on his desk.

Shaun was on the ball it seemed, listening to what Desmond was saying, and even what he wasn't saying and supplying everything he needed at a second's notice.

Altair felt a little proud thinking that he had been right and the two young men worked even better together than they did alone… Now if he could just resolve the tension between them, everything would work out perfectly.

Desmond and Shaun together could be one of the best Private Investigation teams in the world… If they would just shut up and get over their petty differences… or more likely, just fuck and get it over with.

Shaun was almost transparent now that Altair knew the Brit had a crush on Desmond. And it was kind of sad that he had to express his attraction through such teasing and stand-offish behavior.

Altair took the photos when Shaun handed them over and spread them over the desk. He knew most of the faces, recognized them and called up their psych profiles in his head. They were all older men. Fifties, sixties. Some balding, with hardened eyes and smug little smirks. four of them he didn't recognize and had to ask Shaun quietly for the psych-eval's on each of them.

He spent the next thirty minutes reading them, and only looked up for a minute when Ezio returned with two large pizzas which Desmond attacked like a wild beast. Shaun took the cheese pizza Ezio handed to him with a blissful rumble of appreciation in his chest and sat down in his chair to eat, savoring each bite as if it may be his last.

Ezio came over a few seconds later his hands hot from holding the pizza boxes on the walk back, and dug his fingers gently into Altair's shoulders, rubbing away the hints of tension building there as Altair reacquainted himself with his life's work.

Ten men… An Alpha hidden somewhere in their midst…

Why then, when Altair looked at them… did he only see a startlingly large array of Betas?

_Where is he…_ Altair thought quietly, studying each face, each profile, determination warm and familiar in his chest. _Where are you, you bastard… _

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	80. Chapter 80

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_Sorry for the wait guys, there was a tornado and it completely took out the power for like two weeks, on top of that guess who decided he wants to come early!_

_*plays fanfare* Yep, Baby came on July 20th. _

_His name is Steven Anthony Scott *what a mouthful* And for you Avengers fans out there I have no regrets. **grins**_

_Again, sorry for the wait, more is coming, as well as a nice big fat YAOI scene in the next few chapters._

_Love, OZ Hubby and Steve_

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**Chapter 80; Collections **

Christopher Hayes liked to think of himself as a tough man. Liked to think he could handle anything thrown at him. He'd worked in Violent Crimes for twelve years now and had seen just about everything imaginable played out in real life. He'd seen a woman who had skinned her six-month-old baby alive and put him in the microwave, and somehow gotten away scot free pleading insanity.

He'd seen girls and young boys raped, children shot and mutilated. He'd seen gang warfare. Houses burned to the ground, teenagers in the hospital dying because the condoms they'd swallowed full of drugs had burst and poisoned them. He'd seen an old homeless man sat on fire, his entire body covered in third degree burns, refusing to tell the police who had beaten and tortured him.

He'd seen two ten-year-old boys who shot one another to death 'playing war' with their fathers' guns in the back yard and God knew how many suicides and overdoses and domestic disputes.

Chris Hayes had seen it all.

He was also not his father's favorite son. No, That would be Walker, or perhaps the twins. Ray and Charles liked going on fishing trips with the old man every so often, out on one of Dad's friend's yachts on the lake. It was like a secret club, just the three of them.

Chris though, was his mother's second favorite, and he was fine with that. He loved his parents, and he could handle coming in second to Altair concerning Mom. At least mom didn't try to skin his head every time she saw him, or pull up his pants when the waistband of his shorts showed.

Chris didn't mind coming in second because then, when he had the time to help out around the house on his days off, Mom appreciated it even more.

Today they were cleaning out the attic. The place hadn't been touched in twenty years and Mom had said she'd opened it up a few days before to start getting things ready for Halloween and found a dead mouse in her box of spooky decorations.

"Be careful!" She called up the ladder, one hand on her chest; "One of those rats could bite you and give you the rabies!"

"I'll be careful, Ma!" Chris called down with a smile and began carefully sorting through the boxes closest to the ladder, passing down the Halloween decorations once he'd made sure there were no spiders or mice in the boxes. "Do you want the Thanksgiving stuff too?"

Irene sighed; "Might as well wash it all since you're up there already. Seems a waste to only do one holiday's worth of decorations when you'll just be up there again in a few days."

Chris smiled and passed down those decorations too, then the Christmas and New Year ones just to be safe. "Maybe Maria can help you wash these, if she feels up to it."

Irene smiled tenderly, "I think she's asleep, Dear… What did the doctor say?"

Chris shrugged and wiped sweat from his brow with one dusty arm, leaving a muddy smear across his face; "He said everything's going as it should, but not to push her—first pregnancy jitters and all that."

Irene nodded and started down the stairs with a few boxes; "While you're up there why don't you go through that stuff and pick out what can be donated or thrown away? There's some baby things still up there you two may be interested in."

Chris rolled his eyes, he doubted Thorpe wanted thirty-year-old baby things, but he turned and stared at the stacks and piles of boxes set twelve deep toward the forward window. Better to just do it to make Ma happy… He sighed. He hadn't really expected to get any rest on his day off anyway.

Mom came halfway up the ladder twice and presented him with a bottle of water and a bologna and cheese sandwich with the crusts cut off. He ate it miserably and continued plodding through the boxes, sometimes just throwing away whole crates full of stuff without even looking through the contents because when he'd lifted the box silverfish the size of his thumb had dropped out, and Chris may be tough but he hated bugs… HATED THEM.

He was pushing full garbage bags toward the ladder when he found it—quite by accident, hidden between two of the spaced floorboards, visible only as a slick wedge of shining black paper in the crack. He pulled out the little pocket knife he'd taken to carrying in case of emergencies and managed to pry one board up—it was strangely easy—and exhumed the photo from its grave. Grinning triumphantly he put the board back in place and sat back to look at the picture. It was one of his father's old war photos, one he'd never seen before and it took him a few minutes of staring at the unfamiliar faces of the men—two of them bandaged and one in a wheel chair with his leg obviously broken, to identify his father's face.

Palmer was in the back right corner behind a young man with slicked back blonde hair and a severe scowl on his face, light eyes dilated. There was another young man beside the blonde with a series of bandages wrapped around his head and an unsettling smile on his face.

Chris thought this man looked familiar but couldn't quite place him. It was strange, most of the men in the photo didn't even have the same kind of uniform on. Dad's was the standard Vietnam era US Marine fatigues, the blonde man's was Navy, there were four men in Army greens, two Medics, while the man in the wheelchair and the man with the bandaged head weren't even wearing American Military insignia. Chris thought they looked French, but couldn't quite tell.

Chris didn't know who the men were, but imagined, judging from the fact all of them looked injured in some way, that they'd most likely met in one of the hospital units and become friends. He chuckled and climbed down the ladder, hefting the garbage bags with him and leaving them in the kitchen while he tiptoed into the living room and nudged Thorpe awake where she'd dozed off on the couch holding her stomach; "Hey, take a look at what I found!" He handed her the photo when she seemed awake enough and pointed out his father; "Do I look like him or what?"

Maria snorted and handed the photo back; "Oh yes, dashing… Most assuredly! Fuck off, Hayes I'm tryin to sleep."

He pecked her lightly on the jaw and hid the photo in her backpack, "I'm gonna take it… The Old Man's birthday is coming up… be a nice present to have it framed for him, maybe have it blown up to bigger than that scrappy postcard."

Maria hummed dismissively and snuggled back down on the couch in the airconditioning. "Whatever."

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"I'M NOT GOING!"

"Gadil, come out right this minute."

"I AM NOT GOING! YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!"

Altair was sitting at the table with Saree and Kalila to either side of him, Zafir on his knee, all of them trying to ignore the shouting from upstairs.

Ezio was in the kitchen flipping ommlettes and whistling quietly to himself.

Malik had had this same argument with Gadil every morning for the past three days according to Kalila. Gadil just plainly did NOT want to go to school, and no amount of pleading or offers of rewards from his mother, or quiet commands that Yes, he was going to school, from his father could get the boy to cooperate.

Ezio had an uneasy feeling in his stomach. From the way Altair talked, Gadil loved going to school. He was a frighteningly intelligent child, and loved learning… What had changed?

Altair speculated that it was the stress; "He was moved ahead a grade. Straight from second into forth, imagine. The work is twice as tough… The poor kid's stressed beyond his limits."

Ezio didn't think it was the work, but he kept his mouth shut.

Gadil didn't go to school that day and a few moments after the shouting ended with the door to the room Gadil and Zafir shared slamming shut Malik came down stairs looking dazed and patting at a drip of blood from his left nostril.

Altair blinked it surprise shaken from his thoughts of the men Desmond needed his help profiling. "What happened?"

Malik looked at him surprised; "He hit me," Then went into the kitchen and wadded a paper towel under his nose. "I'll have to go talk to his teachers… There must be another bully problem… I just—I don't understand what's gotten into him."

Altair shared his stress idea, Malik shook his head; "His grades are still excellent in everything but Science… It must be happening there, after or before that class. I'll handle it," He gave Altair a look that ended the conversation and took his place at the table.

Saree and Kalila seemed excited by the food Ezio brought them and dug in without much prompting, just mumbled thanks around mouthfuls.

Altair gave him a flirtatious grin over Zafir's head and only just caught the juice cup the little boy was waving, before it dumped in his lap.

Ezio rolled his eyes and went back to the kitchen to clean up his mess. Malik came in and got himself a cup of coffee a moment or two later and threw away the paper towel he'd used to clean the blood from his nose.

"Is your nose OK?"

Malik grunted and mumbled begrudging thanks for making breakfast for the children. "Desmond and Shaun haven't been keeping him awake, have they? I told them not to stay so late, but it's like talking to a brick wall sometimes."

Ezio shook his head; "He spent the last half a month in the hospital, trust me, the two of them arguing is a lot quieter than that ward was. At least you don't have a PA system… I think I've memorized the hospital 'codes' for things."

Malik rolled his eyes. "Maybe you should become a nurse."

Ezio almost laughed; "Nurses perform thankless tasks all day every day for disproportionately low pay… No thank you."

"Have you looked into universities, or colleges?"

Ezio shrugged in embarrassment. "I'm still waiting to take my pre-test, so I'm not too hopeful."

"You make this test out like it's a dragon or something… It's just a piece of paper."

Ezio grunted noncommittally and motioned to the stove; "Do you want one?"

Malik shook his head; "Corn Flakes with canned peaches."

Ezio wrinkled his nose and took his own and Altair's plates out into the dining room. "Have fun with that."

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The rest of the week week passed quickly. Altair walked a lot more, making circuits of the waiting room while he stared hopelessly at the photos Desmond had given him. He barely even limped unless he was tired.

Ezio made him eat. Even going so far as forcing Altair to sit on one of the couches amid the greenery and feed him like a petulant child. He had a feeling Altair enjoyed it a little too much and couldn't help but daub pesto sauce on his nose, or smear ricotta on the corner of his mouth and kiss it away again.

And now it had been four days. Altair still couldn't figure out which man in the lineup was the Alpha. He was lying in bed now, Ezio sitting astride his lap humming while he finished taping down clean bandages after Altair's bath and thinking about what to do about dinner since he'd offered to cook and give Malik a break to spend the evening resting with Hadiya.

"How about stirfry?" He said absently, "I'm getting good at stirfry."

Altair grunted and rubbed his brow again going over and over each psych profile in his head. "Sounds good."

"You've said that about everything."

Altair sighed and flopped dramatically back on the bed. "I'm not really hungry, Ezio… Anything you want to cook will be fine."

"You need to eat, you're not supposed to take your pills without food," He pinned Altair's shoulders to the bed and leaned forward far enough to hide the PI's face with the fall of his hair.

Altair sighed and stared up at him irritably. In all honesty he wasn't in a good mood, he felt incapable and stupid for not being able to pick which guy in that photo was HIM, and it was slowly driving him crazy. "We're missing something."

"What?" Ezio shook his hair back and rocked upward to sit on Altair's hips, grinding downward lightly—teasingly and settling his hands on the older man's chest plucking at his piercing while he waited for Altair to reply.

"None of those men Des showed me feels right. They're all classic Beta personalities. Every last one of them, and that's impossible. I've never even heard about a Wolf Pack with that many Betas, so unless there was more than one Alpha—which is possible but unlikely—we've got something unprecedented on our hands… A-a Super Alpha or something… Like a King all these guys are salivating to please…" He sighed and after a moment shook his head and settled hish ands on Ezio's hips, "I'm sorry… You-you don't need to hear any of this."

Ezio bowed his head and tapped his fingers on Altair's chest for a few minutes, thinking, "What if there was more than on Alpha? What about Rodrigo? Was he an Alpha personality or a Beta? Give me a little reference, I might be able to help."

Altair nodded and thought for a bit quietly, eyes locked somewhere near the far corner, lower jaw jutted forward; "Rodrigo—compared to these guys, was definitely an Alpha… But he still falls into the Beta category because he wasn't doing THAT for himself, you said yourself he kidnapped you and Desmond for some other guy, this Collector."

Ezio nodded. "Altair," He swallowed, "Is it possible that the Collector is here? That—that he's come after me?"

Altair's brows scrunched; "Why would he come after you? It seems like a lot of trouble."

Ezio sighed and tilted his head to the side, picking out his words carefully; "We were considered merchandise. Expensive merchandise… and since Rodrigo was put away, rare merchandise. As far as I know I'm only one of ten still alive. And the Collector has all of them but me."

"So you're telling me because Rodrigo kidnapped and marked you you're like a pristine condition Howdy Doody Lunchbox or something?"

Ezio snorted and rolled his eyes; "Something like that, to collectors I'm like a really rare car."

"You're not a car, Ezio."

"Hush, I'm trying to make a point—" He cleared his throat and settled more comfortably on Altair's lap. "—The point is, I'm very desirable—collectable sort of…" His eyes shut and he spoke with a bit of wince because he knew what Altair would say but he couldn't think of another way to put it and still get his point across; "Have you seen Moulin Rouge? The one with Nichole Kiddman and—"

Altair grinned; "Ezio, have you once taken a look at my movie collection?"

Ezio rolled his eyes and pressed both palms over Altair's mouth to shut him up; "I'm the prize courtesan… Everybody wants me."

Altair scowled and pulled Ezio down to lay across his chest, holding the young Italian protectively close and easing his palm away from his mouth; "Well they're not gonna get you."

"That won't stop them from trying," He sighed and tangled his fingers in Altair's hair pressing soft kisses across his throat and shoulders. "Maybe your brother was doing the right thing… Letting them think I was still on the market… HE could make a mistake—could show himself if he thought it were possible to get me."

"Ezio, I don't want you—"

"Just listen a minute… My father would help… My brother too, if I explained it to them. This guy needs to be caught, Altair. He needs to be stopped before he hurts someone or becomes so desperate to get me he hurts you or my family. I don't want him to get me, but if letting him think he COULD gives them a chance to catch him then maybe… maybe that risk is worth it."

"I don't like this, Ezio… I-I really don't," Then slowly his brows drew down… "What about me? I-I've got the same scar you do… What if I did it? What if I posed as you?"

"Uh, Altair?" He sat up and hiked the leg of his boxers up far enough to expose the mark on his inner thigh. "Sorry, but you don't—"

"Hadiya has some dark red henna—or she could get some… You could use it and make a mark that looks like yours and I could do it, that way you're not in danger. Under close scrutiny it wouldn't match up but in a dimly lit hotel room at just a glance it could be passable."

"Altair," He rubbed his face and let his breath out in a whoosh; "I don't think you understand what you're asking of me… Why would you want to put yourself in a position like that?"

"Ezio, to protect you I'd do just about anything."

"Altair, no offense, but you don't look twenty-one."

He made a rude farting noise between his lips.

"Seriously, nobody's going to believe you're me."

"Why, am I not good looking enough?"

Ezio snorted; "You're older than I am and unlike you I still have all my fingers."

"Details, details… Paltry details. I'll just tell them I did it intentionally for deeper penetration."

"Right," He took up Altair's left hand and displayed it; "Despite what some guys think, The 'Shocker' is not sexy."

Altair burst out laughing, head tilted back eyes closed in mirth.

Ezio trained his expression into something severe and teacher like; "I'm sorry, Altair, but it's just not."

Altair laughed so hard tears came to his eyes and the sound was reduced to wheezes as he tried to catch his breath and put counterpressure on his stomach.

"Jesus, if I'd known you'd think it was that funny I would have started with something about Arabic hips, I've got quite a few about that."

"Oh?" Altair wiped his eyes dry with his finger tips and smiled fondly up at Ezio.

"Yeah…" He leaned close and offered a few quick kisses, folding his arms around Altair's head so he didn't have to strain his back to reach his lips.

Altair hummed appreciatively and his hands slid back to form themselves around Ezio's behind; "You don't know how to belly dance, do you?"

"No."

He pouted despondently; "Damn."

"But I can hula hoop like nobody's business."

Altair's eyes burned; "Hula hoop is basically belly dancing. If you can do that you can belly dance… And I'll tell you from experience, moves like that come in very handy when you're on top."

Ezio's brows lifted, "Really? Is it… does it feel good?"

"Oh yeah…"

Ezio bit his lip and cocked his head to the side, "Altair… I—" He took a deep breath and let it out slowly through flared nostrils; "I've never really… successfully, topped anyone."

"Really?"

"Really… I-I get very nervous… The women I've been with all told me to leave because I was… I couldn't… I was too scared to keep it up."

Altair nodded, "You did a damned fine job the other night."

"The other night I didn't feel pressured, I was always pressured before you, so that doesn't count… The point is, I… I want to try it."

Altair nodded, then swallowed and his eyes widened; "Oh… You—you mean right now?"

"No, not right now, I don't want your fucking side to split open."

"My side isn't gonna split open."

"You don't know that."

Altair sighed and stroked his fingers through his hair, "Okay… Do you wanna like, set a date, or just wing it?"

"I want to like, ease into it I guess… like we did before… I… I wanna practice."

Altair smiled, "Like practice how? You already know how to do it it's just a matter of confidence, and I have to say, Ezio, that you should be very confident… the other day was fantastic," He drew Ezio down and kissed him slowly then pressed his lips to the younger man's ear and whispered it secretly, quietly; "You rode me last time and I can honestly say I've never been dommed from the bottom before… Christ, Ezio it was beautiful… Part of me wants to dress you up in some of that stuff I've got in my closet, give you a riding crop and beg you to stripe my ass, but I don't want to scare you off."

Ezio lifted away and scowled down at him imperiously. "What have you got in your closet?"

Altair smiled, "My collection…"

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	81. Chapter 81

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**Chapter 81; The Black Box**

Ezio had asked weeks ago, exactly what was in that toolbox of Altair's. He hadn't really thought the older man would show him. Of course he hadn't really thought Altair would have so much fetish gear in his closet either but there it was and here he was, after dinner, giggling and stripping down to his underwear and letting Altair help him into a shirt that looked more like a parachute harness covered in little spikes. There were stainless steel rings that fit over his nipples and a strap that was supposed to go around his throat like a collar but he didn't like that one so Altair hadn't fastened it. He'd heard about the pink bustier from Malik so he knew there were THINGS in the closet, but he really... really hadn't expected this much, or that he would kind of, sort of maybe like it.

"Usually I'm the one who wears this… It's got straps to attach a ball gag, and D rings on the back here to hook shackles."

Ezio kept giggling, looking at himself in the full length mirror on the inside of Altair's closet door. Jesus he looked absurd. Altair on the other hand… Altair looked strangely sexy in a lace trimmed blue silk bustier with a garter belt and matching heels. Even if he was still wearing his boxerbriefs and his bandages were visible beneath the… top.

"How can you stand this thing? I feel like a stuntman or something!" He snorted, I bet if you laced those ropes you got in the other room through these rings you could hoist me up like one of those flying rigs they use in the movies."

Altair chuckled and stepped back to admire his handiwork. "I still think you'd look better in something like this… for some reason I really—really want to see you in panties…" He wiped discreetly at a bit of drool in the corner of his mouth.

"We should go as Rocky and Doctor Frankinfurter for Halloween."

Altair hummed low in his throat, "I think I'd have to tape myself down or I'd be packing a serious pole in my pants the whole night.

Ezio cackled and prodded him lightly under the arm, chains and D rings jingling almost musically as he walked toward the Cox Box Altair had removed from his closet. "Alright… Show and Tell… Come on!" He jumped onto the bed with a jangle of metal and patted the mattress beside him.

Altair rubbed his face and let out a low sigh color rising to his cheeks as he walked carefully over, amused by the hungry lookin Ezio's eyes as he did. He had a feeling Ezio liked seeing him in this getup… Strange… He'd never considered wearing it before, usually whoever was in control did or brought their own… Then again, he wouldn't be opposed to it, there was something weirdly satisfying about feeling the clasps of the garter belt moving against his thighs as he walked, or the light constriction of the top… Maybe when he was healed and the pinch of the boning wasn't so uncomfortable he'd take a look on the Corset Shoppe website again… It had been a while, at least since Cindy, the kindergarten teacher. He wondered absently, looking at the dark glazed appearance of Ezio's eyes, if the younger man would be opposed to a few dom lessons. Just light stuff. Nothing heavy, Ezio was still too new at all of this—still too fresh from his trauma for anything heavier than some mild scolding and perhaps some gentle bondage and as much as Altair may enjoy it he wouldn't ever put his wants before Ezio's health and well being. Not ever.

Altair unlocked the box slowly and stowed the key back in his bedside drawer, "Look… I-I've never really shared the contents of this box with anyone, so… Take it easy on me, OK?"

Ezio nodded.

Altair let his breath out in a whoosh. "First off, I ordered these a while back, before your dad's surgery…" He passed Ezio an unopened box wrapped in plain brown paper with a shipping address on it.

Ezio shook it curiously and was about to ask what it was when he realized he shouldn't have to ask. He blushed; "This… this is for me?"

Altair nodded, "You don't have to use it, but if ever you should want to, it's really good for beginners."

Ezio nearly turned the same color as Altair's curtains and carefully opened the box. It was blue alright, bright ocean blue and came in pink and purple packaging with bright happy lettering and a carry handle. "Snack Box" Multispeed Vibrator. He was sure the color would never fade from his face, and was a little relieved to look up and see Altair was similarly afflicted and scrubbing his head nervously.

"I—uh—I've got one too… It's –uh—it's pink… uhm… You—you don't even really have to use it sexually, I have a yellow one I put on my back when I've been sitting at my computer too long… You see, I—uh—I have frequent shopper's points on the site and every so often they just—just throw in free stuff as kind of a buyer's loyalty thing? You know… and—uh—Christ you really don't want to hear about buyer's loyalty and frequent shopper's points on a sex toy site…" He rubbed his face and groaned miserably.

Ezio giggled; "It's fine, Altair, really," He cleared his throat, "So, how do you use this thing?"

He took a deep breath and tried to school his features but wound up red cheeked and staring more at his hands than Ezio taking the thing out of the box, humming amusedly at the package of batteries included.

"I would honestly suggest just turning it on and trying it out… You may be more sensitive in more places than I am… Me? It depends on which one it is… uh—I have some that are purely for insertion, others that are for different parts and then just your average bullet, those are nice… The wireless ones though if you're going for insertion, you want to put them in a condom first or they might get lost in there… I had that happen once when I was just starting out with all this stuff… It took me three hours and a pair of tongs to get the damned thing out again… And trust me, that is not something I would wish on ANYBODY."

Ezio hid his face trying not to laugh at the mental images that conjured up. "Okay… what about what you were using on your birthday? I… I'd kind of like to see that one."

Altair grinned, a tiny uplift of his mouth and glanced away for a second before he cleared his throat and delved into the box to find it.

What he pulled out made Ezio release a quick snort and clap a hand over his mouth to hold in his laughter. IT was a very realistically shaped black rubber phallus, complete with veins on the sides and a flared head.

Altair's expression was serious despite the color in his cheeks, and he unscrewed the bottom cap and slid two batteries inside, reattached the cap and turned it on.

Ezio collapsed with a tinkle of chains across the bad jerking in silent laughter.

"I assure you," Altair said cooly, "That it feels much better than it looks."

"Good!" Ezio said in a gasp, "—Because it looks ridiculous!"

"They all do, but when what you want isn't there, they're a close enough approximation."

"Altair, I don't know who you slept with before me, but I promise you, I have never seen a man's penis do THAT before!"

"I would hope not… Although, THIS does make it dance a little," He produced what looked like a thick clear rubber ring on which there was a finger sized silver… he supposed the word was bullet.

Ezio stared at it in confusion. "What does that do?"

"It's a cock ring… You—you stretch it over… and this can either be pointed up or down depending on where you want the vibrations… If you're not prepared for it it can make you pop early… I found that out the hard way."

"Maybe you should give a demonstration, since you're already… Well," He motioned to Altair's lap.

Altair didn't even acknowledge his arousal; "Last time I used a vibrating cock ring I lost it before she even got it in me."

Ezio blinked at him in confusion.

Altair scratched his head; "She had a strap-on…"

Ezio hesitated, feeling somehow out of place suddenly; "Altair?"

He was watching the black vibrator… vibrate, with a distant grin on his face.

"You prefer being on the bottom, instead of the top, don't you."

He shrugged up one shoulder and turned the toy off, meeting Ezio's eyes seriously. "It really depends on the person and the situation. Like, with you? I'm happy either way— But I'm not gonna lie—the thought of you wearing something like this—" He motioned to himself, "—and having your way with me is appealing… I like the thought of you in control like that…"

Ezio scratched at one of the straps where it was sticking to his ribs; "I like that—being in control—it's nice…" He paused, wetted his lips and had to look away from Altair's face to say it; "I liked riding you like that—before… You made noises and—and I liked it."

"I made noises?"

Ezio felt himself blush brightly; "Oh, yeah."

"Good noises I hope."

"Very."

Altair swallowed, "You—you wanna see if I can make any new ones?"

"Hell, yes."

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Bondage was not a new concept to Ezio. He'd been tied up before and restrained for customers, but the idea that you were supposed to enjoy being tied up was foreign to him. Altair explained it carefully while he presented Ezio with a few old neck ties he'd gotten from rummage sales and things. "You're uncomfortable, I can tell—your shivering."

"I don't really want you to be tied up," Ezio said softly, "It—it feels like I'm forcing you if you're tied up."

Altair hesitated and just looked at him for a long moment, then felt himself smiling fondly; "You know you're not though… I like it—and I'm not just saying that, I really do like it—But if you're uncomfortable with it we don't have to," He tossed the ties back into the box.

"But you do like it, I don't want to deny you something you like—"

"Ezio, I want you to be comfortable, more than I want to be tied up. It's more than something physical for me. Just holding my hands still will work, or like you did before, pressing my hands down. That was nice… Do you know what a safeword is?"

When Ezio shook his head Altair nearly fell off the bed. He righted himself carefully and tilted his head to meet Ezio's eyes; "A safeword is a word or phrase you use when you want certain attention to stop… It's uh—It's mostly used in scenes where saying 'no' means 'yes'."

Ezio scowled. "Do I need one?"

"No, but you can have one anyway if you want it. I won't put you in a situation where you saying 'no' could be taken like that…"

"You've been in a situation like that?"

Altair felt suddenly uncomfortable, he rubbed his neck; "A few times… It—It's complicated."

"Explain it to me… Why—why would you want to be treated like that?"

"It's control play… I—Sometimes I like to—" He cleared his throat, "Sometimes I like to feel entirely helpless—"

"Why?"

Altair hesitated, his mouth open, then with a sigh closed it and found himself playing with one of the garter clips. "Because, I find it completely terrifying."

"You like being afraid like that?" Ezio for a brief second looked almost disgusted.

Altair had never really thought about the 'why's of his behavior before. Why he felt the urge to be helpless, or why after a good scene, he felt almost as if he were in shock… Truthfully, he didn't really know why, but thinking about it—trying to explain it to Ezio, knowing what the younger man had been through, was eye opening.

Why _did_ he enjoy being dominated?

He didn't like the thought that popped into his head and the very sound of it in his mind made him feel sick to his stomach.

_Because I deserve it… Because I **SAW.**_

Altair swallowed, his brows curled down, a sick unclean feeling leeching into his skin from somewhere deep in his mind.

No… He didn't enjoy being afraid, he didn't like the uncertainty of it. He didn't like losing control or feeling helpless. It reminded him of being a child, peeking into his mother's room one night because the Bad Man was motioning for him to follow again and seeing that shadow looming over her—

_CHOKINGBITINGBLOODBRUISESLEA VEMYMOMMYALONE_

—but in controlled situations maybe… maybe it made the fear of helplessness less somehow? If he could trust someone to take him to that brink—

_let him **SEE**_

— and bring him back again unscathed, maybe that was OK? Maybe that, in itself, gave him control over the uncontrollable?

Ezio shifted forward and framed his face with both hands, expression concerned; "Hey… I'm the one whose supposed to space out like that, not you… What—what's wrong?"

Altair swallowed a strange tight knot in his throat and focused outward from his core again—He was shivering and his skin felt waxy.

"Christ, Altair, are you alright?" Ezio's eyes flicked back and forth quickly, one hand slipping to the PI's throat to check his pulse. "Is it your stomach? Are you in pain?"

He shook his head and lifted his hands, staring at them for a few seconds as if they belonged to someone else.

Ezio's breath rasped in his ear and he was only partially aware of the younger man pulling him close and speaking. "Jesus, Altair? Altair… Can you hear me?"

He found Ezio's hand and held it between his own, focusing on it—breathing—and after a minute reigned in that, he wanted to call it a flare. "I'm OK… Just—just thinking," He swiped fingertips over his face, drawing them back wet.

"Yeah—I'm not tying you up," Ezio said with an air of finality. "Not if you're gonna act like that—Jesus Christ, you LIKE that?"

Altair wanted to smile, wanted to laugh it off, but he couldn't. "Not that, no… That—that… I-I don't know what that was."

It hadn't been his subspace. There had been no calm, no feeling of being protected or loved or so very well taken care of. That place had been all jagged edges and flashes of images like a dream he'd had while he was so sick in the hospital. He'd—he'd hurt but not in a physical sense, he'd felt—felt like something was wrong, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Uncertainty…

Ezio swallowed and sat close for a few minutes just running his fingers over Altair to assure himself he was alright.

Altair nuzzled into his neck and whispered that he was OK—thank you—I'm alright now.

But he didn't know if that was the truth or not.

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_And the plot thickens *rubs hands together deviously* _

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	82. Chapter 82

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Thanks to Ayazani for reading over this for me! *hugs* I'm sorry i didn't get back to you, I started work again and It has eaten me alive... I may never recover.

...

_YAOI SCENE AHEAD! *makes bird noises* Sorry for the wait, hubby had to help me with this one. On an up note, Capes has a new chapter as well! As does Unfortunate, Bleed and Family Men!_

_I should have another chapter for Fast Cars within the next few days. I got caught up in updating other fics and only finished one for this week *begs forgiveness*_

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**Chapter 82; Haze**

It took nearly an hour for Altair to fully calm down, in that time he'd shed the corset and garter belt and put the heels back into the closet. Ezio had also squirmed himself out of the 'shirt' and pulled Altair's toybox over, carefully sorting through it and laying out everything in a fan across the bed and Altair himself since he'd laid back on the mattress and thrown an arm over his eyes.

Ezio thought for certain that their amorous activities were finished for the day but enjoyed the closeness enough to seat himself astride Altair's hips and categorize the PI's toy collection in order of color and size.

He propped his hands on his thighs and let out a low whistle, "You really have too many sex toys, Altair," Some of them weren't even opened, still in cellophane and plastic packaging. "What does this one do?" Pink and white marbled and smooth to the touch with a little rubber… THING on the tip.

"Freebee… I've never used it actually, but the package was too big so I took it out. G-Spot vibrator…"

"And this?"

"Vibrating riding crop."

Ezio snorted. "Do all of them vibrate?"

"Not all of them, that green one there—" He motioned to an unopened package by his ear, "Just a plain dong."

"What's the difference between a dildo and a dong?"

"Have no clue."

Ezio shrugged and picked up another package, this one a silver tube with black lettering on it that said 'Sound Wave' He carefully opened the package and shook the contents out into his hand, "What the hell is this?"

"Don't—don't mess with those, I ordered those by accident—thought it was one of those vibrators you can hook to your iPod. It wasn't."

"What IS it then?"

"A set of sounds."

"Sounds?"

"They go IN there," He glanced down at Ezio's lap emphatically and the younger man winced and put them back, tossing the package into the bottom of the box. "You haven't even opened half of these."

Altair shrugged.

"I think you're addicted to online shopping."

He chuckled and rested his hands on Ezio's hips; "Probably… Hey, any of those unopened ones you want you can have, I'm—I'm gonna cut down for a while," He rubbed some grit from the corner of his eye and settled back comfortably fingers gently kneading Ezio's hips, grinning at the lump in the front of the younger man's underpants.

Ezio appraised the unopened packages with pursed lips, reading the 'descriptions' with narrowed eyes.

"Altair?"

"Hmm?"

"You're gonna make me hard if you keep groping my ass like that."

"Hmm, that's the point… Just because I'm not in the mood for sex right now doesn't mean I'm not very—very attracted to the idea of watching you."

"Watching me?"

"Uh-huh… you've got the sexiest orgasm face… you know that?"

"No… I make a face?"

Altair was grinning again from under his lashes. "It… it's like you're surprised… Like it just comes up and catches you unaware."

Ezio felt his face go red and he bowed his chin to his chest and bit his cheek to keep from grinning. How do you tell your boyfriend… what a childish word—that orgasm does surprise you… that having sex because you want to and not because you're obligated and ENJOYING it is surprising? He wound up shrugging one shoulder toward his ear and not saying anything.

"Sometimes I wish I could feel what you're feeling… Just once… it looks better than anything I've ever felt before."

"It's just orgasm…"

"No… no, it's more than that… It's more than sex too, I-I just don't know how to explain it."

Ezio was quiet for a few minutes and Altair thought he wouldn't get a reply and was relaxing back again hoping for a quiet little nap with Ezio's weight on him.

"It's choice, Altair… It—it feels different because you don't pressure me, because you let me make the decisions for myself. You meant it when you said I was in charge and I… It's nice—better than nice," He hesitated and spoke slowly choosing his words carefully. "Petruccio talks about losing his virginity like it's exciting and something wonderful and something he's chosen to do because he feels he's ready… The thing is, he only gets that choice once. He can only be ready for that first once… I—I feel like I get that choice every time because every second of it is a new experience for me. It—It's complicated."

Altair tilted his head to the side, despite the ideas forming in his head held his tongue and let the poignancy of the moment remain instead of trying to 'lighten the mood' with humor.

"It feels good, being able to choose… Being able to let go and enjoy it because I want to, because I'm ready… orgasm is just an added bonus."

Altair hummed and drew patterns across Ezio's thighs with his fingertips watching as the younger man loaded batteries into the blue slimline he'd been given earlier, curiously closing it in his fist and twirling the dial all the way up, all the way down and back.

"Ezio?"

"That's my name."

"Haha, smartass… Are you gonna use that or are you just testing it out?"

Ezio hesitated, brows drawn down just looking at it, "I don't know… I mean—isn't this a big thing? Using a TOY for the first time?"

Altair hummed; "Don't think of it like that then. Think of it as an experiment in sensation. Just finding your own most sensitive spots."

Ezio nodded and fiddled with it for a few seconds more, changing his grip from sword like, to knife like, to almost as if he were holding a huge pencil to finally by the dial as if he were presenting a cigar to his grandfather.

Altair chuckled; "Hold it like a pencil, that works best for me anyway, then just do it however feels natural."

Ezio did, then just sat there holding it and squeezing because the vibrations made him feel almost as if he were going to drop it. Curiously he touched it to his knee, then his thigh and slowly across his waist.

Altair snorted; "Want me to do it?"

Ezio let his breath out in a whoosh and shoved the thing into Altair's hands scrubbing nervously at the back of his neck. It was absurd how embarrassed he was about that thing. Truly and horribly absurd.

Altair groped for the package of sanitizing wipes Ezio had tossed from the box and gave the thing a quick onetwo before tossing the towelett toward the trashcan. He started simple, loosely gripping it and running the tip around Ezio's left knee, making slow sweeps higher and higher on his inner thigh then over his hip and lower stomach, tracing the brand name on the waistband of his underwear and smirking at the growing tent in the front of them.

Ezio shifted a little, uncomfortably and swallowed audibly eyes heavily lidded as he watched Altair's hand inch closer and closer until he could feel the vibrations indirectly through his abdomen.

"Feel good?"

He nodded.

"Want me to keep going?"

Another nod.

Lower and lower tracing the edge of his underwear, up his inner thigh, around his hip, across his stomach—lower—Altair's fingers inching up, hooking under the elastic and pulling gently as if he were unwrapping a present, easing him out dipping closer—closer—

"Feel good?"

He wasn't sure how to answer really, it did and it didn't and and it w—

It skimmed lower and Ezio felt himself move—a jolt really—heels pressing into the mattress and Altair's brows screwed downward.

"Ezio, what was that?"

Ezio blinked at him stupidly for a minute and color rose instantly to his cheeks, "Oh, no… No—NO! Don't you dare!"

Altair's eyes were wide and gleaming wickedly. "You ARE ticklish!"

"I am not!"

Altair prodded him again where leg became torso, just to the side of his privates and Ezio squirmed, one foot hooking in Altair's armpit, the other on the headboard, both hands wrapping around his wrist.

"Altair—ALTAIR! O-Oh sh-shit, you jerk!" His head dropped back on his neck, falling between Altair's knees and writhed trying to escape but only managing to somehow force the thing to slip to an even more sensitive area.

After he had proven his point Altair relented and lay there with Ezio's left leg wrapped around his neck his head pillowed on one thigh, grinning up at the younger man's flushed face. "Sorry."

"No you're not," Ezio snorted and couldn't help smiling even as he shook his head, "I am NOT ticklish."

"I have a vibrator here that begs to differ."

"Just k-keep it away from there, alright? Jesus…" Ezio shifted forward, wondering how he managed to get into this position, lying there with his head between Altair's knees and the PI's arousal pressed into his chest. He scowled and groped for the nearest toy to him, "You asked for it, I hope you know!" He pulled at the waistband of Altair's sweats, heart hammering in his throat as the PI grunted in acknowledgement and reached down to help. "One of these days I'm gonna tickle you till you pee yourself…" He snarled and scraped his teeth against the inside of Altair's knee, "and you're gonna enjoy it."

Altair gave a shiver and kicked the package of antiseptic wipes in Ezio's direction, breath coming out in hot puffs against Ezio's inner thigh; "Watersports? I didn't think you had it in you. Though I don't really think being tickled till I pee is erotic, but you know… whatever floats your boat."

Ezio snorted; "Uncle Mario old me once that my Grandma Auditore would smack my dad around when he was little if he wet himself… Maybe I should take that riding crop to you as punishment—" He tossed a used sanitizing wipe over his shoulder, not caring that it nearly hit Altair in the face.

"Ezio… What are you doin down there?"

"Relax."

"Ezio."

"Relax, it's little," He held up the toy—another slim line, slicked with lube and sat back to work.

Altair made a soft noise in the back of his throat; "Christ, you're gonna— This is strangely kinky…" He practically giggled and shifted a little further onto his left side, wrapping his arm under Ezio's leg and pulling him closer. "Just—just keep hold of it… Last thing we need is a hospital trip to get a vibrator pulled from my ass… Especially considering—"

Ezio grunted and nuzzled in closer, bowing his head. It was thrilling, having Altair's taste on the tip of his tongue. He was still nervous about just opening his mouth and diving in, but it was easier than it had been before. Especially when Altair made that noise in his throat—high, a little surprised, awed perhaps… A reedy little gasp followed by a hum and Ezio had to stop for a moment when he felt breath against him, the gentle rasp of a few prickly facial hairs on his belly and warmth as Altair took him in shallowly and the careful nudge of a finger asking permission.

"Oh, th-this is new…" Ezio took a slow breath and let himself relax. Waiting because if he were to resume his attentions to Altair right now he very well could bite him and Altair may like pain to a certain degree, but nobody liked to have their dick bitten.

Altair tapped his thigh with the vibrator questioningly and after a minute Ezio nodded.

Altair drew back for a breath, trailing kisses over hot flesh, "I… If I need you to stop I'll do this, OK?" He tapped the back of Ezio's thigh twice with his free hand.

Ezio hesitated, realizing Altair hadn't asked to be notified if Ezio needed him to stop, he already knew the younger man would say something… This… This was Altair's boundary, Altair trusting him to stop if he needed it to stop.

"Okay…"

Altair tapped him again, three times, his breath warm, electric against the damp patches on Ezio's skin, "Warning… Means I'm about to come, OK?" God that tongue.

Ezio felt heat rise to his cheeks but he nodded. Last time he'd stopped before that became a factor in the equation. He swallowed a lump in his throat, "Thanks… I'll—I'll do the same."

Altair nodded took a breath, shifting his weight to a more comfortable position and took him in again, slowly, his eyes closed, breathing in and holding for a few strokes and pulling back with an exhale before repeating. His finger moved in and out slowly, working lubrication in before a second slid in alongside it. A slow stretch and massaging pressure.

He felt as if his whole world had narrowed and expanded in that one moment, enveloped as he was, then slowly the fingers withdrew and something warm, solid and most definitely not fingers slid in and in and in, then out and back in at an angle. He could feel Altair's fingers moving on it, twisting that dial and—

Altair held still for a moment, letting Ezio move, aborted confused thrusts of his hips, quivering muscles in his stomach and legs. The younger man made a series of noises, unsure and overwhelmed and Altair had to tilt the toy away from his prostate for a moment so Ezio could catch his breath. After a moment of stillness and gentle shivers Altair tilted it carefully again, barely touching, making small thrusting motions to distribute the vibrations in a wider area less likely to overwhelm him.

Ezio lay there shuddering for a few moments, fingers biting into Altair's thighs before he came back to himself, floating up through the sensation and remembering what he'd intended to do. He took a steadying breath and had to force his hands into motion, one slick finger dipping in—Christ at this angle Ezio could see it all, how the flesh moved with each push and withdraw… He imagined how it would look if he were doing this with his dick instead, and had to close his eyes for a minute and focus on not moving his hips and choking the PI. "Sorry," It came out in a slur, and he trembled because he could feel Altair grin, sucking harder as if to say there was nothing to apologize for.

Ezio wasn't really satisfied with the two finger technique, Altair's body still felt so snug and really he should be allowed to get as many in there as possible, but Jesus, he wanted to make Altair squirm… wanted to hear the older man whining and whimpering because he just felt so damned good…

Ezio didn't even realize he'd lowered his mouth again until he became aware of the bitter taste in his mouth and he quickly pushed the realization away again because he didn't want to focus on it and gag, he'd discovered his gag reflex could be overcome if he didn't think about it.

However, watching the length of that toy slide into Altair's body was utterly hypnotic and he found himself just watching it slide in and out for a few minutes before his fingers slipped and he accidentally turned it on.

Altair's thighs tensed and he groaned around Ezio's length, fingers pulling—for a few frantic moments there was nothing but sensation, the thrill of making Altair groan and shake in pleasure, and the wet suction around him. It actually took Altair drawing back to breathe and curse; "Fuck— fuck, E-Ezio, t-turn it down a-a l-little or I-I'm gonna—"

He turned it down to a low throb and Altair lay there panting for a few seconds, sweaty brow bowed into Ezio's thigh before he could lift his head and continue.

Altair seemed to come back with a feverish tenacity, lips and scraped teeth, his tongue rolling and flicking and r-rubbing while his fingers moved the slimline in and out, leaving it for longer and longer intervals pressed directly into Ezio's prostate.

Ezio found himelf mirroring Altair's motions, drawing back every so often to scratch his teeth over the seam of Altair's legs or to suck a pink spot on his lower stomach and thighs, or catch the PI's testicles between his fingers and just—just SQUEEZE a little, feeling them grow tighter and hotter with each second. It was terribly exciting being able to deviate just enough to keep Altair making those noises, or to suck just hard enough that the older man had to pull off quickly and gasp in a few breaths between curses. The shudder of muscles strained from trying to hold himself back and that beautiful, satisfying moment when Altair gave himself over to it and stopped trying to keep himself still—writhing into each touch, each lick and moment of pure suction.

Ezio hung there, on the precipice, envisioning himself riding Altair as he had not so very long ago, those frantic breathless eternal seconds between repetition and orgasm, hanging there itching, needy and entirely mindless. Release was eminent, looming over him like a tidal wave and he felt so small and helpless in its shadow but still waited eagerly with wide eyes and open arms.

And then Altair tapped his thigh in quick frantic succession; onetwothree onetwothree—

Ezio remembered fingers in his hair pulling him down—choking him—flooding his mouth with bitter filth—tears and being unable to breathe—

He wanted to, wanted to hold Altair still and take everything in but he couldn't—not yet… could he?

Altair whined and pulled off; "Ezio—" His voice was strained, broken and a bit of moisture clung to his lower lip, shoulders tense, belly quivering. Ezio met his eyes and didn't move.

Altair's face was red and his eyes rolled back, head bowing into Ezio's thigh fingers flexing even as he tried to hold absolutely still, but Ezio tilted the vibrator savagely forward and he couldn't control it, couldn't hold it back. He heard himself groan, low almost animal noises and tried to stifle himself again, tried to swallow Ezio down so he wasn't so loud, but all he managed to do was mouth ineffectually at Ezio's hip and work the slimline quickly in and out against the younger man's prostate.

He felt almost as if he were coming apart, Ezio's throat working—swallowingholyfuck—flowing with the motions. There had always been a difference in the sensation, simple ejaculation was never as intense as this, this all-encompassing earthquake of pleasure that started somewhere deep in his gut, wrapped around his legs and coiled deep into his chest. He was helpless against it, couldn't fight it could only pray he kept breathing and his heart didn't burst in his chest but knowing if it did he'd be OK with that, what a way to go! Death by orgasm! HA!

Ezio knew it was different, didn't know how but he could sense it because Altair had never shaken all over like this before, had never seemed to fold in on himself and appear so fragile—so serene while he experienced his little death.

Ezio only vaguely realized his own orgasm was approaching when it happened and he found himself groaning into Altair's hip and leaving a sticky mess across the PI's chest and throat.

Altair didn't say anything, even as he put the batteries away and leaned heavily against Ezio's shoulder in the shower. He didn't say anything until his knees almost gave out and the two of them wound up sitting in the tub together, dripping and cold. Ezio's expression was concerned, his fingertips pruned from the water as he pushed Altair's hair out of his face and pressed palms to his cheeks;

"You alright?"

After a moment he looked up and nodded. "You… you didn't have to…"

"I wanted to…"

"You should take some antacids…"

"Already did… Hey… Really, are you alright?"

Altair didn't nod, his eyes focused on Ezio's chest, then down at the mark on his thigh and finally on his hands. "Ezio… In—In Morocco… Why did you ring your bed?"

Ezio's brows drew down. "What?"

Altair swallowed, "You made fortification rings around your bed… why'd you do that?"

He glanced away and rubbed his neck, "I had nightmares… it—it helped, made me feel safer I guess… Why do you ask?"

Altair hesitated, licked his lips and spoke more to Ezio's knees than his face; "I used to do the same thing when I was little and… and I have no idea why."

"You were a kid, maybe it's just a kid thing…"

Altair shook his head, "It's not… It's defensive behavior, but I don't remember what I had to be defensive about… I-I can vaguely remember a nightmare or two of this—this old guy with one dead eye and a big beard standing in the door, but other than that I…"

"I used to think there was a monster in my closet, not a creepy old man… Did you know this guy?"

Altair shook his head, "Just some old man that I had the impression wanted to take me away…" He rubbed water away from his mouth. "Maybe it was my subconscious representation of my father… I don't know."

"Your father?"

Altair sighed and gave another nod; "My mom and dad weren't married… I-I've never actually met him—" He snorted, "I don't even know who he is besides a name."

"You've never tried to find him?"

Altair shook his head, "Pretty sure he's dead."

Ezio sighed, "Then why would you be afraid he'd come take you away?"

Altair hesitated then shrugged, "I don't know, I was a kid, isn't that what kids are afraid of?"

Ezio shrugged, he couldn't seem to stop touching Altair. Couldn't seem to stop petting over his head and shoulders and down his arms to assure himself nothing was wrong with him. He sighed, trying to chafe warmth into Altair's skin and pushed himself to his feet, "Come on, before you get chilled and can't stand up."

Altair snorted; "I'm not an old man."

"Do you wanna climb outta there on your own?"

"And miss you groping my ass to help me up? Not a chance."

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Halloween was too close for Ezio's liking by the time he believed Altair when he said he was healed enough to go out.

"We're taking a cab," Ezio said pulling the strings of Altair's hood until all you could see was the PI's nose and chin.

Ezio had finally shaved off the little goatee he'd been sporting all September and the first half of October. It had gotten to the point beforehand that he'd been contemplating dressing up as Jack Sparrow.

Altair had laughed until tears rolled down his face watching Ezio stumble faux-drunkenly around the room in accordance with this idea.

However Ezio decided not to when he'd said as much to Claudia and she'd let loose a peel of laughter so shrill his head was still ringing and begged him to let her do his makeup. He'd learned his lesson letting her pluck his brows and give him the damned goatee in the first place. So, with a few quick swipes of a razor the offending patch of hair was gone and Altair had spent a few minutes kissing him and confessing that it had been ticklish as hell 'the other night'… And that had escalated to a tangle of sheets and slick and Ezio winding up with a stain on his shirt. Subsequently he'd stolen one of Altair's while his was soaking in the sink.

Altair allowed one last prodding of his incision, all but four of the sutures had dissolved and oddly enough Ezio found the red line across his lower abdomen strangely attractive. He had to stop himself more than once, from leaning forward and just… running his tongue over it.

He didn't know why he wanted to, honestly, but he did… He'd been weirdly fascinated by it since the sutures started disappearing, how someone had cut open the man he loved, taken out part of his insides and sewed him up again… and Altair was still there, all that remained as evidence of what had occurred was that scar.

Even now, sitting in a cab with Altair's hand in his own he felt awed by it.

"Leo's scar," He said turning to look the PI in the face; "—is vertical," He made a motion from under his ribs downward nearly to his pubic bone. "Of course they had to do a lot more to him than they did you…"

Altair smiled and pecked him softly on the cheek.

Ezio became an entirely different person while costume shopping. He was loud and excited and Altair had a hard time keeping up with him.

Ezio darted back and forth between costume displays, changing his mind as quickly as dropping a hat.

"PIRATE!" Then a heartbeat later, "Oh, my God, ZOMBIES!" only for a few minutes to pass and he would stare at a skimpy women's costume; "Hey, Altair… How about a naughty nurse?"

And Altair would turn red and try not to smile.

They visited four different costume shops, not to mention stores that were selling costumes. Ezio tried on at least ten different ones in each store and made Altair try on a few as well.

They wound up at the mall—a place Altair hadn't been in years—Altair had found a small lounge area of couches and told Ezio he was feeling a little tired, that he was just going to 'chill' and finish his coffee, to go on and look in the shop he'd be in in a minute.

Ezio nodded and left him.

Altair though, didn't come in… And when Ezio came out looking for him thirty minutes later, he found the PI sitting on one couch with his chin propped on his fist sound asleep. Ezio checked his watch—It was only fifteen after four, then went back into the store. He looked critically at the masks and costumes for ten minutes and when he couldn't make up his mind he bought a soda from a vending machine, as well as a package of OREOs and sat down beside the PI until five when he nudged the older man awake, "Hey, come on… Let's go get some food and go home."

Altair looked around dazedly for a while, rubbing his face, then glanced at the display on his phone; "Shit… I-I must have dozed off."

Ezio leaned into his shoulder and offered some of his food; "It's alright, nothing in there I liked anyway."

"Maybe we should just go as zombies," Altair said between drinks. "I've got some old clothes in the basement we could destroy."

Ezio smirked; "I'm tempted to just go with the Rocky Horror idea… I bet we could talk Malik and Hadiya into being Riffraff and Magenta."

Altair snorted and gave Ezio a tight hug; "We should just have a Halloween Party or some shit."

Ezio growled; "I'm going trick-or-treating, end of story."

"You don't have to pick one or the other. You can do both… Hell, I'll go out for treats with you," Another snort; "I bet Shaun and Desmond would too. Shaun likes to pretend he's tough shit, but I'm willing to lay money on him being all in for free candy… Only one problem… Nobody around here does trick-or-treating much anymore."

Ezio looked gobsmacked.

Altair shrugged; "Most everyone does costume parties or 'healthy alternatives'," He scoffed, "It's bullshit if you ask me… Malik, Kadar and I dressed up one Halloween and completely toilet papered our entire block… It was beautiful," He wiped an imaginary tear from his eye.

"I want candy. I want to scare the shit out of little kids and get free candy."

Altair chuckled and pulled him into a one armed hug; "We'll figure something out."

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	83. Chapter 83

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**Chapter 83; The Black Spot**

Ezio watched FX makeup tutorials on the internet for a week, eyes wide in sick glee while he munched on popcorn and took notes in his journal on what kind of heinous horror of a Halloween costume he could construct in the five days left to him.

Altair spent most of that week on the internet as well, trying to hunt down local trick-or-treat zones in the city what he found instead was something called 'Adult Trick-or-Treat' that a few of the bars and adult themed shops did… The more research Altair did into it the more he liked it and if the traditional Trick-or-Treat fell through, there would always be that. He also called Desmond daily to get progress reports on the case since he hadn't heard any news from him since before he'd gone into the hospital.

Desmond was very tight lipped though and said only that he and Shaun were following up on a few leads that if they panned out would blow the case wide open.

Altair wanted to be optimistic but Desmond did have the tendency to overreact and blow small details out of proportion.

Shaun was no more helpful. The Brit was very tight lipped and seemed nervous. When Altair was able to corner him one afternoon when the redhead came into the office to collect a few things and copy notes from Ezio's file he seemed on the verge of telling Altair something but sealed his lips and decided against it.

Altair was a little proud of Desmond for managing to keep the case so quiet, but then again he was anxious to have answers and wanted the kid to hurry the fuck up. He wound up designing pranks to play on Malik that included stretching plastic wrap over the door facings in the print shop completely shrink wrapping Malik's car and handcuffing him to various pieces of equipment in the shop and trying to pull his underwear elastic up over his head. He did so much love doing that one.

Ezio woke him on Tuesday morning with an excited look on his face, pointed to an image on the laptop screen and proceeded to giggle like a maniacal six-year-old while he detailed the plan to the PI.

"No," Altair could feel heat in his cheeks; "Christ, Ezio, you can't be serious!"

"Oh, but I am!" He grinned wider still. "It's funny and awesome."

"You'll freeze your ass off!" He hid his face in the pillow. "Why can't I go as a hobo? I'm pretty much set for that."

"We could do the Rocky Horror picture show idea for Malik's party and this for trick-or-treating."

Altair choked on a laugh. "You're gonna get us arrested."

He made a farting noise between his lips and shook his head; "Naw, there's gonna be worse out there, I guarantee it."

"You're gonna freeze."

"And you'll be right there to warm me up again. Besides, you already look the part and you've got most of the props you'll need."

Altair lifted his head and peered at the computer screen then with a sigh dropped his face into the pillow again; "Fine, fine… Jesus Christ the things I let you talk me into."

Ezio grinned triumphantly, closed the laptop with a click and gave Altair a quick kiss on the back of the neck. "You won't regret it."

Altair snorted and nuzzled deeper into the blankets.

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Ezio insisted on going out at least once a day the five days before Halloween. Mostly it was just to be out and stare at decorations, then he wanted to go to a haunted house—they went to the haunted house and Ezio laughed most of the way through it until someone turned on a chainsaw right by his head at which time he decided to climb Altair like a fucking tree and then laugh about it afterward.

Altair slept like a baby every night and Ezio either spooned to his side or crawled on top of him or sat up watching scary movies on Altair's laptop.

Claudia came over two days before Halloween and took Ezio away, she Petruccio Federico and their parents were going out of town to visit a few haunted houses and Altair was left alone. He spent the day catching up on paperwork and delivering summons, when Ezio came back he was brandishing a DVD like a sword and proclaimed he and Altair were watching it.

"As long as it's not an exorcism movie, I hate exorcism movies."

"Why? They're fucking awesome!"

"Because I really don't like the idea of some otherworldly spirit possessing my body and making me do things I shouldn't be able to do," He filled a bowl with popcorn and dropped onto the couch beside the younger man.

"Well, this isn't an exorcism flick."

"What's it about then?"

"It's about a paranormal PI who hunts down demons and shit and is trying to win his way back into heaven."

Altair snorted; "So it's an exorcism flick."

"NO," Ezio pouted and popped the DVD into the player.

Not ten minutes into the movie Ezio was enthralled and Altair looked like he wanted to puke.

"I thought you said this wasn't an exorcism movie."

"It INVOLVES an exorcism but isn't ABOUT it, so technically it is NOT an exorcisim flick."

The demon in the little girl was gnawing at her insides and Altair's nose wrinkled up; "Fuckin' hell, man…" He looked away but his gaze was inexorably drawn back to the screen.

Altair didn't sleep a wink that night. Ezio snored like a freight train.

The next morning Altair woke from a doze to an empty cold bed, he eventually found Ezio down stairs in the print shop looking through one of Malik's weapon's magazines still bare footed and in his flannel pants and t-shirt. "Sorry," He said with a yawn, "Malik got an emergency order for fliers and needed some help because his folding machine broke again… Cool thing is, it scored us free R.I.P passes to Eleventh Hour."

Altair's spine physically tingled. "You're shittin' me. Me, Malik and Kadar went there with Walker and Chris one year before we graduated. It is a memory I will cherish until the end of my days."

Ezio snorted; "Yeah? What happened?"

Altair stepped up behind him and turned the page in the magazine; "Malik got so scared he pissed himself."

Ezio grinned; "Malik? Malik pissed himself."

"It was fantastic… Of course I can't talk, I pissed myself too, Kadar screamed a couple times but he must have pissed in the bushes beforehand, I don't see how he managed it, but just the look of abject horror on Malik's face made it worth the humiliation. How many passes did you guys get?"

"Enough," Ezio was grinning. "We're goin' tonight, so, you know, bring an extra pair of pants if you think you might piss yourself again."

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Halloween is a sacred holiday in Chicago. People just love to scare the shit out of other people, or have the shit scared out of them. Also, any excuse to serve gummy worms in cocktails was a must.

Desmond liked making eyeball Ice cubes with lifesavers and bits of black licorice. He had twenty trays arranged in Malik's freezer and had brought over a small liquor store's worth of alcohol, pretty much without Malik knowing and made a corner for himself on the roof. He was rather proud of his costume in all actuality, and although people kept calling him soldier boy, he could ignore it because it just proved how out-of-touch they were with popular Television shows.

Malik threw a Halloween party every year on the roof. Mostly it was just clients and friends, but it always had a good turnout. Desmond had volunteered himself as bartender just for the chance to go. Malik wasn't too happy about coming up stairs to put up some last minute decorations and finding Desmond and his little corner set up plugging a mini-fridge in to an extension cord he'd dragged up from the kitchen.

No, not happy at all.

"My children will be here, Desmond," He said with a scowl. "My children will be her and you're serving alcohol."

"I'm not dumb enough to give kids alcohol, look—" He held up tiny colorful, plastic martini glasses and motioned to a pitcher of fruit punch. "I can mix virgin cocktails. I'm good at what I do, I'm not gonna give any kids booze… Besides it'll make them feel grown up."

Malik shook his head and gave Desmond one last threatening glare.

Desmond, feeling victorious, covered his table and supplies with plastic until 'Show Time' and went down stairs to order some pizza.

Ezio went home for a few hours to see his family and finally witness the awesomeness that was Federico, Katie and Baby Gio's coordinated costumes. He sent Altair a picture on his phone of the three of them and Altair nearly spat coffee out his nose. He sent back;

_'Little Nicky? Your brother someone convinced his girlfriend to dress their kid up like Nicky's hell spawn?'_

_Fuck you. He's adorable._

_I could see Federico as Nicky, and his girlfriend as Valerie but I am scarred for life with that baby_

_It's awesome, take a look at my parents._

Altair had to look twice, turning his phone onto its side before he realized what he was looking at.

Giovanni was wearing a plain white t-shirt with an image of a prickly green herb on the front, and Maria was wearing a similar t-shirt with a female deer on it.

_Your parents are horrible, horrible awesome people_

_I thought it was hilarious. _

Next was a picture of Claudia in a yellow racing suit with a plastic sword and a young man in a black suit and tie Altair didn't recognize.

_'I recognize The Bride, but what and who is that guy?_

_That's Matteo, he and Claudia have been seeing each other for a few weeks now Nobody really knows what he is and he won't tell us. The suit looks good though. _

_Yeah, Des is dressed up in this long coat but he won't tell us what he is either. _

When prompted Altair went upstairs and snapped a picture of Desmond looking disgruntled and eating his pizza. A few seconds later he got a reply.

Ezio sent a little face with rolling eyes. _Just call him Captain. I'm sure Shaun'll get it when he shows up. _

_You get it?_

_Yep._

_What is he! TELL ME!_

_Nope. _

_Please?_

_Nope._

_Not even for a blowjob?_

_Tempting, but no. _

_Damn._

_I gtg but I'll see you later. _

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Altair got another text message about two hours later as he was reluctantly putting on his first costume.

It was from Chris and consisted of Thorpe sitting on Chris' sofa with her growing belly exposed and painted like a pumpkin. A few seconds later was another image of Thorpe looking irritated but indulgent and eating Ramen noodles with Chris' head leaned onto her shoulder, he was in uniform. Altair knew the only reason Chris would wear that god awful uniform was if he'd been put on street duty. It was rare that it happened, but every so often, especially on holidays, crowd control was needed because assholes really did like to make a mess on Halloween.

Altair sent back; _Be careful tonight E and me going to 11th hour if you get off before 2 come over to the shop Maliks having a party Des has drinks. _

A moment later was a reply; _See you then._

Altair was putting the finishing touches on his costume when Ezio returned, fully dressed and grinning like an idiot.

Altair snorted and looked him up and down; "Very Chic…"

"Chic my butt, I'm fuckin' badass!" Ezio looked at himself in the mirror and grinned.

Altair chuckled; "What the hell are you anyway?"

"It's traditional Masquerade costuming. It was my father's he said I could wear it and I think I look like a complete badass!" He wrinkled his nose at Altair; "What are you? A demonic accountant?"

Altair shook his head; "Yeah, something like that."

Ezio rubbed his hands together and went to the bed stripping the cases off two pillows. "Okay, I'm ready!"

Altair rolled his eyes. "You're nuts. I haven't been trick-or-treating since I was thirteen."

"I've got you beat! I was ten!"

Altair mocked a bow. "Des said he wanted to come but he had to wait for Shaun."

"Oh, did they finally fuck and get it over with?"

Altair snorted; "No."

"Damn."

There was a knock on the door and Desmond stuck his head in. "Hey, are you two ready yet? All the good candy'll be gone!"

Ezio rolled his eyes; "Nice haircut."

For a minute Desmond didn't look like he could tell if Ezio was serious or not and his brows drew down; "Thank you?" He looked at his watch, "Shaun's a lazy bastard, you mind if we swing his way and grab him?"

Ezio gave Altair a questioning look with his brows up.

Altair shrugged; "Fine with me."

People on the bus didn't even look at them twice, although a few teenaged girls were staring at Desmond and Altair and giggling behind their hands. Altair ignored them but Desmond smiled back politely and they giggled all the harder.

Shaun's apartment building was decked out. The lobby was strewn with paper pumpkins and fake spider webs, and Desmond wasn't entirely averse to taking the elevator because the stairwell was decorated as well and he had a feeling the strobe lights would give him a headache.

A few apartments had bowls of candy sitting on their doormats and Ezio helped himself with a dark cackle. Altair tried not to laugh at him.

Shaun's apartment door was only decorated by a paper ghost taped to it, the peek hole in the ghost's mouth.

Desmond banged roughly on the door; "Open up! We've got the place surrounded!"

There was a thud from inside and a minute later the door cracked open and there was Shaun in red converse a brown pinstripe suit, with matching tie and a London Fog trench coat, he took one look at Desmond and his toothbrush fell out of his mouth. He slammed the door hard and Ezio heard his feet thump against the floor as he quickly retreated.

Yep, Shaun recognized it.

Ten minutes later Desmond was still banging on the door; "Come on, man! We're wasting time!"

"Go. Away."

"Come ON! I'll break the door down if I have to!"

"You will not! I'll lose my security deposit!"

"Then just— GET OUT HERE! You said you would!"

"That was before I saw that—that monstrosity you're wearing!"

"It's not a monstrosity, I paid a hundred-bucks for this thing!" He flipped his lapel and propped his hands on his hips, tapping his foot; "Just COME ON!"

"They'll think we're in matching costumes!"

"SO?"

"Not even Altair and Ezio are in matching costumes and they're shagging one another."

"Shaun, really? Just—just come on, man, you're ruining it!"

"I refuse to have people thinking we're together."

"How is having coordinating costumes going to make people thing we're fuckin?"

"Oh, yes, considering WHO you're supposed to be, Dear Dummy, I'd say it wouldn't take much."

Desmond looked down at himself and seemed to shrug; "Okay, fine, you're right about that, but who is gonna think that besides teenaged girls or people who watch BBC America?"

"My sister for one."

"Well, we'll just stay clear of your sister!"

Shaun was quiet.

"I'm gonna count to ten—"

The door opened and Shaun stood there with his nose in the air, he pointedly did not look at Desmond, just locked his apartment door and walked quickly away.

Ezio was red in the face from holding back his laughter, thankfully most of it was hidden behind his mask.

By seven Ezio had half a pillow case of candy and Altair, Desmond and Shaun had gotten blushing-giggly looks from just about every woman between the ages of fifteen and twenty-seven. Shaun was hunched miserably over the steering wheel of his car and Desmond was happily munching on some candy corn. "Not a bad haul!" He said staring at Ezio over his shoulder.

Ezio laughed and rifled through his candy again, holding each piece up to the dome light to check for anything foreign implanted in it before he stuffed it into his mouth.

Altair every so often stole a Tootsie Roll or some Red Hots and introduced Ezio to something he called 'Devil's Kiss' which consisted mostly of pouring a package of redhots into his mouth and kissing him deeply until between the two of them the candies had dissolved.

Ezio's ears were red and his nose was running from the cinnamon overdose but he didn't care.

By seven thirty Ezio and Altair had climbed into Malik and Hadiya's mini-van and they were moving.

Gadil was slouched in his seat looking like the world's most miserable little Ironman, Kalila and Saree were straightening hats and wigs and fidgeting in their respective costumes and Zafir was probably the smallest Spock Ezio had ever seen. When he tilted his head to look at the kid Zafir gazed back calmly and lifted a pudgy little Vulcan hand sign.

Ezio hadn't got a good look at Malik and Hadiya so he wasn't sure what they'd dressed up as, but Malik's hair was spray colored blue.

It took a while for them to reach Elk Grove Village but it was worth the wait.

Saree and Gadil begged and pleaded and made large dark eyes at Malik until he agreed to take them into the corn maze and Hadiya stayed out in the festival area with Kalila and Zafir taking heed of the sign that suggested those who were pregnant or with heart conditions not go any farther.

The air held a heavy earthy scent and Ezio was thrumming with energy darting back and forth looking at this and that drinking cocoa and shivering with excitement. Once or twice he huddled close to Altair and complained about the cold, but as soon as the next group was opened those R.I.P passes made an appearance. Malik chatted with the Ghoul of the Hour while they waited for admittance gripping Gadil's hand tightly… Not three steps into the maze Gadil froze and said he wanted to go back, please can I go back and Malik had to wait until his son had made it back to his mother before he continued on, letting Saree grip his hand instead.

Ezio thought it was probably the most exciting and horrifying night of his life in a sense that he knew his life was not actually in jeopardy but still scared the pants off of him.

Saree screamed like a movie star and wound up on her father's back practically strangling him. It seems the earplugs Malik had supplied did nothing to diminish the sound of her screeches because Malik had a pounding headache by the time they had finished the maze and were heading off to the next exhibit.

Ezio found himself hovering halfway between panic and hysterical laughter the entire time, especially when a monster he had thought was just a lifeless prop leapt at him and he jumped backward like a cat, collided with Altair and knocked them both sprawling the 'Monster' bearing down on them.

It wasn't so much that it was THAT scary, more as it startled the pants off of you and a few confined spaces made maneuvering nearly impossible and—

"E-Ezio, you're choking me!" Altair was laughing. "It's just a guy in a ma—"

Chainsaw.

Ezio would never forget the wide gold eyes or the slack jaw, only that Altair struck out with both fists and a kick in the actor's direction and they went down again, tangled limbs and Altair's long coat wrapped around Ezio's legs, Ezio's hair in his mouth.

Nope, this would not be a night Ezio easily forgot, especially Saree cackling wildly as she watched her uncle and his boyfriend slump out of the last house still gasping for breath and digging fingers into one another's arms in desperation to not lose one another in the fray.

On the ride home Ezio was sprawled across his half of the seat tapping out a rhythm on his shirt front. "Hey, look at it this way."

Altair grunted.

"At least neither of us peed ourselves."

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There was a bit of a commotion as Malik drove back into the city, the police had set up a road block and were detouring traffic around it. Altair saw an ambulance with closed doors and EMTs working in the back and quite a few police cars, but Malik had maneuvered them around before he got a better look at it.

They had fifteen minutes left to change costumes for the party and Altair couldn't stop grinning as he watched Ezio strip down to his underwear, comb his hair back into submission and tie a large white towel around his waist. He gave Altair a dramatic pose and flexed his fists by his ears.

Altair laughed and shook his head as he redressed. "This is absurd, I hope you know."

"Of course!" Ezio grinned; "But that's the fun of it!"

"I'm not gonna have to actually drink anything, am I?"

Ezio shook his head and presented the empty beer bottle prop he'd confiscated from his father. "No, you can put water in the bottle if you want," Then he sat Altair down and brushed white mascara into his hair to make it look greyed; "There! Perfect!"

Altair looked at himself in the mirror and scowled; "I feel ridiculous."

Ezio pulled him out to the roof anyway.

"You are gonna freeze your ass off, Ezio, I hope you know that. And I'm not sharing my coat, I'm not!"

"Aw, yes you will, if I ask nicely," He pecked him lightly on the cheek. "Now, lets GO!"

Malik had changed costumes as well into something historical that looked like it had been hand made for him. When Ezio asked him what he was supposed to be he said; "I'm a Naval Commander from the Napoleonic War."

"OH! You're a pirate!"

"No."

Hadiya came down in a pair of sweats and a dark purple hooded sweatshirt, her eyes were puffy.

Ezio smiled; "What are you?"

"I'm a fat pregnant lady," She said and popped her gum. "What are you?"

Ezio grinned crookedly and propped his hands on his hips; "I'm the Old Spice Man!"

She didn't look impressed; "And what is Altair supposed to be?"

Altair didn't say a word just made a very serious face and displayed the empty beer bottle.

Hadiya blinked at him; "What are you?"

"I'm the most interesting man alive… You know, from the beer commercials?"

She blinked rapidly; "So, you two are dressed up like commercial characters? Commercial characters you don't even look like?"

"What did you think we were?" Ezio crossed his arms.

She popped her gum again and pointed; "A skeevy old pimp and someone who hasn't put his costume on yet."

Ezio looked mildly insulted.

"I thought it was clever," Malik said in their defense.

Hadiya looked long and hard at him, popped her gum one last time and went back up the stairs to their bedroom and shut the door loudly.

Malik pursed his lips let his breath out in a sigh and shook his head; "Fine…"

Ezio lifted his brows; "What's wrong with her?"

"She wouldn't fit into her original costume… She's decided not to come upstairs since she can't wear it… I told her she was being silly and she called…" He cleared his throat, "So I'm on my own tonight."

Ezio nodded and the matter was dropped.

For the first thirty minutes of the party Ezio was fine, by forty-five minutes he was so cold he was sure his balls wouldn't come out from hiding until next July, he found Altair and crushed himself to the PI's side; "You were right, I was wrong… gimmie your coat."

Altair chuckled and held his jacket open so Ezio could squish up against him and warm up. Ezio hid there for a while huddled against Altair's chest, his cold nose pressed into the PI's neck. He found Altair's phone in his breast pocket and began fiddling with it just for fun. "Hey, you missed a call."

Altair grunted and took the phone, checking the number; "Was Chris…" There wasn't a voice mail so he pushed it from his mind but something nagged at him and at about twelve thirty he excused himself from Giovanni and Maria and disappeared into the stairwell dialing his brother's number.

It rang.

And rang… and rang and went to voice mail.

He tried again.

It rang and rang and rang and rang and went to voice mail.

Ezio made a shivery noise and came bustling down the steps; "Fuck this, I'm freezing my nuts off!" He disappeared downstairs and came back a minute later fully dressed with three jackets on. "How can you stand it, I'm absolutely FROZEN!"

Altair's face was scrunched in worry and he tried to dial again.

"Hey, Altair… What's wrong?"

He hummed and when the phone went to voice mail again let his breath out in a whoosh; "Chris isn't answering his phone."

Ezio scrunched his face; "Maybe he's busy?"

"That wouldn't stop him from at least answering and telling me; 'Not now.' He's done that before."

"Call Walker? I don't know. Maybe his battery's dead."

Altair grunted and dialed Walker's number, it rang three times and was answered.

"Altair?"

"Hey, what's going on, Chris isn't answering his phone—"

Walker was deathly still for all of five seconds and Altair heard voices in the background, coughing and someone was crying loudly, like a child lost in the street.

Ezio couldn't hear what was being said but he saw the confusion on Altair's face scrunch into something unreadable, something pained and he slumped heavily against the wall and was suddenly on the floor, head between his knees.

"Altair?" Ezio crouched with him, one hand on each of the PI's shoulders, trying to shake him back into awareness but it was no use.

Altair's whole body was shaking and he pressed his phone flat between his palms and tried not to look Ezio in the face. His eyes were wide, lips compressed and his nostrils flared with breath.

"What happened?" Ezio leaned close, his own discomfort forgotten, focus entirely on Altair and the panic in his expression. "Altair, what happened?"

He shook his head and tried to push away, eyes locked on the floor but Ezio really was very pushy when he wanted to be and wouldn't let Altair go.

"What happened! Jesus, what's wrong!" His heart was in his throat and he had to swallow it down again to speak. "Please, Altair, please tell me what's wrong!"

He swiped his tongue over his lips and his eyes met Ezio's, wide in disbelief, voice naught but a wet rasp;

"Someone shot my brother…"

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Dear Readers,

THIS is the point I was waiting for to bring Capes back into the picture. I was hoping this chapter would have been up a LONG time ago but life got in the way, so, just so you know THAT is why Capes has been so dormant. And, I sincerely apologize for the wait!

OZ

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	84. Chapter 84

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**Chapter 84; Lies**

Ezio felt it like a punch to the gut. "What? Is—is he OK?"

Altair hesitated, eyes wide and confused, then shook his head; "I don't know…"

Ezio swallowed, the world around him feel distant and muted. "Oh, Jesus… Altair—I… I'm—" He shook his head; "Is he at a hospital? What happened? Where is he?"

Altair told him and dug his fingers into the young Italian's arms as if to ground himself, head bowing forward between his knees, breath coming out in quick gasps.

There was noise on the stairs behind them and Ezio turned his head to see Malik coming down. "What happened?"

Ezio said it as if in a dream, surprised and probably louder than he should have but he couldn't stop himself; "Someone shot one of Altair's brothers."

Malik's eyes widened; "What? Which one?" He blinked rapidly and crouched; "Is he alright?"

Altair just shook his head and couldn't seem to stop shaking it, like an animal trying to rid itself of some clinging little monster.

Malik gripped his shoulder and shook him a little, trying to bring him back to himself; "Hey, come on—You need to go. I'll drive."

"I can't…"

Ezio blinked stupidly; "You can't?"

Malik was already on his feet but he stopped halfway down the stairs and stared.

Altair gave another soft tremble and Ezio realized it wasn't that Altair had been banned, wasn't that he didn't want to go… he just physically couldn't make himself go and face the facts of what had happened… what would WAS happening.

Ezio didn't need to know the specifics of what had happened, Altair's voice shaking through those few short words was enough to paint a picture too vivid, too horrible for Ezio to comprehend.

"Come on, Altair," He pulled his arm emphatically.

Altair yanked it back and folded his arms around his head; "No."

Ezio stared, mouth dropped open and for a long while couldn't speak. Distantly, he found himself trying to/not to imagine what it would be like to be faced with a similar situation concerning one of his own siblings.

Petruccio rode a bicycle everywhere, sometimes he listened to his iPod at the same time… what if he wasn't paying attention and went out into the street in front of an oncoming bus?

Federico worked long hours and drove home sleepy… What if he was in an accident?

What if a mugger approached Claudia in the parking lot and she wasn't able to defend herself against a gun?

What if any number of horrible nightmarish scenarios came true and Ezio found himself without one of his brothers or without his sister? What if something happened to him and he was permanently separated from his family?

Ezio forced the thoughts away and pushed himself close, wrapped his arms around Altair and lowered his lips against the PI's temple; "You have to go, Altair… You have to."

He pushed against Ezio's chest but Ezio clung to him stubbornly not understanding or realizing that Altair was trying to deny his comfort. "Stop it—Ezio, I said stop it!"

He jerked back in confusion, eyes wide, jaw clenched

Altair lifted his head, covered his face with both palms and seemed to shrink in on himself, teeth ground together so tightly they popped.

"Altair?" His hands itched, burned in a cold empty way and he tried to touch him again only for the PI's shoulder to jerk violently beneath his fingers and one gold eye to peer out from between parted fingers, angry and cold and afraid.

Ezio blinked in surprise and withdrew his hands fisting them in his lap. "He's your brother, Altair. You have to go—"

"He is not… We're not related at all, I don't have to do anything—"

"Altair."

"DON'T."

Ezio's mouth shut with a click and he felt himself staring, shocked at Altair's ear. He had never heard the PI use that tone before… That angry, irrational snap… He'd heard others use it, but never Altair, never the man who promised to never hurt him or make him do anything he didn't want to do… Never HIS Altair.

Ezio felt chilled in his middle… and a brief moment of doubt ate away at him. Mayby— maybe Altair really was just like every other man who had ever touched him. Maybe all the trust and hope he'd put into this man was a fool's hope… An innocent, stupid mistake by a broken, hurt little boy who hadn't learned his lesson—

No… Ezio sat his jaw and took a deep breath. No.

Altair was hurt and afraid and ashamed of not feeling brave enough to go to the hospital with his family and wait for the inevitable.

Altair was human, flawed and irrational and he needed Ezio to be strong when he couldn't be, needed him to crumble and show vulnerability so they could sit at the bottom of that preverbal pit together for a while in misery then help one another climb out.

Ezio wasn't perfect, he knew that, he was far from perfect, but he had a grasp on the why's of emotion now that most others did not. His quick mind had been one of the reasons his recovery was progressing so quickly.

"Altair… You've only got one chance at this… I won't make you go if you can't, but I want you to think about this a minute, OK? Just—just think about it… He's your brother—I don't care if you're related or not, he's your BROTHER," He swallowed a burn in his throat and blinked moisture from his eyes; "Can you live with yourself if you don't go and at least say goodbye?"

Altair opened his mouth, shook all over and closed it again.

"Can you live with yourself if you don't?"

No… He knew, he knew it like a hole in his stomach. He didn't want to go. Didn't want to see Chris—CHRIS, like that. The young man who'd got him high and made him do crazy things. The young man who'd taught him now to throw knives and play video games. The young man who'd introduced him to Blues and Jazz and everything good and musical in this world.

Altair shook his head and hid his face in Ezio's chest.

Malik drove, still in his Napoleonic Naval Uniform. He drove and when they arrived he griped Altair's arm while Ezio gripped his other, as if between them they carried his weight.

The ICU was packed with policemen. Irene and Palmer were there. Everyone was there it seemed. Ray and Charles and their girlfriends, Sharon, Kara and Jeffery. Walker, in sweats and a a t-shirt, his face pale and grim.

Altair felt every eye on him and he felt like a prisoner, lead through a silent gallery of accusers. It was as if sound were transitory, bypassing him completely.

Thorpe was in a wheelchair outside the ER, two doctors and a nurse hovering over her, holding an oxygen mask on her face. She was alone and wide eyed, gripping her stomach and shaking her head, trying to get back into that room but the doctors were keeping her still, keeping her immobile.

It was like something out of a dream or a nightmare how those doors opened automatically when Ezio punched the button as he passed, like the gated rusty doors into hell, gripping Altair's arm tighter, Malik's hand slipping away as he passed. This was a private moment, this was something Altair had to do and although Malik had fond memories of Chris from his own childhood, this wasn't his place and he knew it.

It was like a slow motion horror show, coming around that corner a doctor trying to stop them, shaking his head and holding up his hands. Ezio wanted to punch the man, wanted to shove him away and tell him to just go away, just—just vanish and leave them alone but he didn't have to, the doctor's lips tightened and his hands dropped to his side in sympathy, watching as Altair stepped into the little cubicle.

It must have just happened, Ezio supposed, he should have guessed from how everyone was crowded in the waiting room, how everyone had looked up at Altair as if he were some foreign invader and it hurt… It hurt so much and the pain was like a spike in his chest.

There was blood all over the gauze and sheets. Tubes coming out of Chris's still form like something from a demented science experiment.

His chest was pale, still and all the monitors were turned off. His eyes were closed, lashes just dark fans on his ashen cheeks.

Altair stood there at the foot of the bed and stared.

His hand lifted, shook and hovered over Chris' boot. His lips parted but no sound came out. He looked confused, unsure if this was reality or a dream. His hand pulled back and he took a few steps closer, his hand lifted again, touched—gentle, hesitant at his brother's hand, his wrist a few scant inches of waxy skin visible beneath bloody bandages, tubing and the neck brace.

Ezio blinked, his vision swam and he felt wetness running down his cheeks but he couldn't take his eyes off Altair. Couldn't look away. He'd never really seen Altair cry before. Not like this. He was silent, finding a lock of Chris's hair that wasn't matted with blood, touching it, then the pins on the collar of his uniform. The bloody pad of gauze on his shoulder, where the first bullet had torn through him. Fingers hovering over the mess of gauze on his head, not touching, shivering, afraid…

Altair's shoulders drew up, trembled and fell, his fingers curling into his palm, fists lifting to press tightly together as he took one—two three steps back to press his shoulders against the wall and sank to the floor without a sound, staring but not really seeing.

A doctor came in and crouched by Altair's side, asked if he was OK, accepted the half a nod he got in return and put a hand on the PI's shoulder when the nod turned into a repeated shake in the negative and Altair's mouth tightened into a pale thin line on his face a wrinkle of effort on his brow as he tried to hold it all down.

"It was peaceful," The doctor said softly, "He wasn't in any pain…"

"Getting shot in the back is your idea of peaceful?" Altair choked and covered his mouth to keep any other noises from getting out.

The doctor sighed; "The first bullet severed his spinal cord, he didn't feel anything. He just… just went to sleep."

"He… he didn't hurt?"

The doctor shook his head, "No, he was given medication when he was brought in to make sure he didn't feel anything."

"Was he scared? D-did he know?"

The doctor tilted his head to the side and offered a sad smile; "No. He just went to sleep… He was unresponsive when they brought him in and it was touch and go for hours and about five minutes ago he just… just went. We tried everything but it was just his time."

Altair took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Do you think you can stand or do you want me to bring a chair in for you?"

Altair shook his head, rubbed his face and shook his head again; "I'm OK," He forced himself to his feet and with one last look over his shoulder he closed his eyes and left the room hand up and searching for Ezio before he even realized what he was doing.

Ezio gripped him tightly and they walked out of the ER the doors closing behind them with a soft fatalistic whoosh.

There were policemen there in the doorway leading outside and Altair vaguely recognized the two young men they were restraining, the shocked expressions on their faces but he couldn't make himself think, couldn't make himself do much of anything but follow Ezio's guiding hand as he was lead back out the way they'd come in.

Malik was waiting for them in the parking lot, leaned against the back bumper of his car. Every so often he gave a harsh snuff and wiped at his face. He saw Ezio and Altair coming and took a deep breath to steel himself, coughed to clear his throat and motioned to the blue olds parked beside him. "They showed up a few minutes ago, I tried to—"

Altair just shook his head and pulled open the passenger door sitting down and bowing his head between his knees, wheezing as if he may be sick. "Shut up… Just—just shut up."

Malik, for once listened to him and turned back toward the hospital recognizing Shaun and Desmond's shapes as they came running over, Shaun stopping, out of breath to bend his hands against his knees.

Desmond tried to get in close to Altair but Malik got in the way, grabbing the young man around the shoulders and pulling him in for something like a hug, fingers tangling in Desmond's hair and pulling until the young PI's ear was near enough to his lips that Malik could whisper; "Leave him alone… Don't say anything, jut leave him alone."

"But, I have to—" There were tears in Desmond's eyes.

Malik pulled a little harder; "Just walk away."

Shaun straightened and tangled his fingers in the shoulder of Desmond's coat, drawing him back with a quite; "Come on, Des… Come on."

He struggled a little, but it was only for show and finally he let himself be pulled away, accepting the sharp but affectionate pat on the cheek from Malik as Shaun drew him away from Altair.

Malik scraped his hand through his hair and watched as Shaun's car pulled into traffic, then turned and bounced his fist light off the side of his car a few times, his face scrunched up in pain and thought. He cursed under his breath and scrubbed his knuckles against his brow, then said it again, lips pulled back from his teeth in a growl. "Fuck."

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	85. Chapter 85

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_This chapter would probably fit better in Capes, but I left it here because it explains why I called the fic what I did… If I revise and put together a master fic like I'm hoping to do, I'll mesh the two stories a little better than I have._

_OZ_

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**Chapter 85; Sometimes You Lose**

Altair doesn't go to the funeral.

Desmond knows this because he's standing on the street with Shaun watching through the cemetery gate, uninvited and unwelcome.

Shaun's on his third cigarette. Desmond wants to be drunk.

"What now?" Shaun says, blowing smoke out into the November air.

Desmond can see Thorpe sitting beside Irene Hayes staring straight ahead. Irene's sobbing, Thorpe's face is calm, blank and she has a hand on her stomach. Palmer has an arm around his wife's shoulders and his face is unreadable. Walker, Ray, Charles and Emma are there, heads bowed solemnly. Emma was wiping her eyes with a wad of tissues and gripping the back of her mother's shoulder.

Desmond flipped his hood up before the bagpipes started again, before the uniformed men could give off their twenty-one gun salute and turned away, walking at a brisk pace, Shaun jogging to keep up, flipping his cigarette into a puddle as they passed.

"Des," Shaun said slowing at his elbow. "What do we do now?"

"Nothing," Desmond said softly, taking larger, longer steps because he had to get away from that noise. The repetitive clap of gunfire like a heartbeat and bagpipes— Fucking bagpipes.

"Nothing?" Shaun put on a little more speed. "What do you mean 'Nothing'?"

"I mean NOTHING, Shaun! We wait. I faxed Mickey back, told him we'd meet him to just send us the time and date and now we wait for him to call."

"And when will that be?"

"If I knew I'd tell you."

Shaun scoffed; "Really?"

"Yes, cause I'd tell you to bring lots of mace and a knife."

"Think we'll need that?"

"Yeah."

Shaun nodded and watched as Desmond circled around to the passenger side of the car and waited for Shaun to unlock it and let him in.

They drove in silence and Shaun watched Desmond chew his nails nervously from the corner of his eye. It started raining again, cold and almost slushy, a prelude to an early snowfall.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, I don't want to talk about it, Shaun. There's nothing to talk about."

"He's dead, Des."

"Yeah, I didn't know that, thank you so much…"

"He died because he knew, just like we do… What if they come after us?"

Desmond ignored him and Shaun didn't press the matter, he was too afraid to.

Shaun nodded and let the matter drop. They went to the park and Desmond made a few calls from a pay phone, some relic from the early nineties and they drove around in silence for almost three hours, watching people and wondering what life would be like if they were one of them, not about to risk their lives for a pale chance at bringing the bad guys into the light.

"What are we?" Shaun asked sometime later, pulling onto Malik's block and parking, a quiet, hushed moment before the preverbal apocalypse began. "Some weird breed of heroes? Going off to face possible death and gunfire with grins on our faces?"

Desmond snorted and unfastened his safety belt, "No… there's no such thing as heroes."

Shaun shook his head; "Laugh you are… Christ. What are we then?"

Desmond shrugged; "Two guys in a car."

Shaun just looked at him, eyes narrowed as if actually seeing him for the first time; "What do you believe in, Desmond? What is keeping you going right now because I'm five minutes from pointing this car south and driving until I hit the ocean."

He was quiet for a minute, just thinking and watching the sun sink slowly behind the rooftops; "When I was a kid I wanted to be a pilot… Wanted to fly fighter jets and shit," He swallowed and glanced at his hands then continued; "Ezio always talked about wanting to race cars like his dad and uncle did in Italy… Wanted to be a Medici Driver," He snorted and there was something sad in the way he looked at his lap and smiled; "We were actually talking about that the day we were grabbed off that corner. We were planning, one day, to have a race. My fighter jet against his race car… Just to see who would be faster."

Shaun wanted to point out that fighter jets were statistically much faster than any land craft yet known, but kept his mouth shut for the sake of whatever point Desmond was trying to make.

"When they took him away, for the longest time, that's all I could think about. Who was gonna race against me when I got my pilot's license? I-I was lost without him… I didn't know what to do with myself… When he came back I—I just felt whole again like everything was gonna be OK—but it's not, is it… It's not OK," He hesitated, drew his lower lip between his teeth and just breathed for a moment; "I just wanna make it OK."

Shaun looked at him silently for the longest time and he could feel something, that burning twinge of attraction he'd always felt but denied sting even harder, even brighter than before.

Desmond looked at him and away, then back again, color rising to his cheeks. He grinned nervously; "What are you lookin at me like that for?"

Shaun inhaled, unaware that he'd been without air and leaned back in his seat, eyes on the road again; "Nothing… Go on then, we don't have much time."

Desmond hesitated, staring at him, then climbed out of the car and went across the street without a word. He crept upstairs silently and stashed all their paperwork in his backpack leaving nothing of their goings on in the whole office. He paused outside Altair's bedroom door and listened to the record the PI had playing. Something quiet and sad sounding that he didn't recognize immediately. He turned the knob slowly and peered in through the crack unable to stop himself from looking one last time at everything he was trying to protect.

Ezio was leaned against the head board humming along with the music, carding his fingers through Altair's hair. The elder PI was pale and curled in on himself between Ezio's knees, his head on the Italian's thigh. He looked asleep but Desmond supposed he could also be in a cold stupor. Altair didn't process grief well. Desmond had known that from the beginning simply because they had that in common. Where Desmond pretended it didn't bother him, Altair often shut down completely or became defensive and withdrawn.

Desmond felt a pang of sympathy in his chest and looked up, nervous and a little frightened because Ezio was staring at him. They looked at one another for the first time it seemed and actually saw. Desmond didn't see a grown up version of his childhood playmate or the young stranger who had stolen Altair's attention from him. He just saw Ezio, a young man who loved Altair very much in ways Desmond didn't. He saw someone strong and independent in spite of his past and someone who fought every day for the normal Desmond so readily took for granted.

Ezio saw someone far too serious to be the Desmond he remembered. Saw someone determined and maybe even a little dangerous. Someone with something to prove to himself and the world around him.

They looked at one another and saw all the fast car dreams and airplane in heaven ideals they'd had as children and the stark cold reality of the world they'd been born into unveiled.

Desmond felt his throat tighten and he swallowed it down, gave Ezio a nod and pulled the door shut behind him. Ezio breathed through the burn in his sinuses and turned back to the man he loved, humming softly long after the sun sat and bathed them in darkness.

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	86. Chapter 86

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**Chapter 86; Truth and Consequences**

The phone call came out of the blue.

Altair had been mostly calm, lying in Ezio's arms, just letting the younger man run fingers over his face, his hair the scars on his chest, hook their little fingers together and stare at them. He'd been quiet and had relished in the quiet because when there was silence between the two of them it was never empty… And his cell phone had rung.

Altair sighed and turned his face away, intent on ignoring it, but Ezio plucked it up from the nightstand; "It's Desmond."

"Let it ring."

Ezio handed it to him and Altair's finger went for the 'Ignore' button but something, he wasn't sure what, made him answer it with a tired exhale; "Hello?"

_"Altair—"_

"Des, I'm not in the mood, can you call back la—"

_"No, shut-up! S-someone's shooting at us!"_

Altair sat up, adrenaline shooting into his veins like a drug; "What? Who—Where are you?"

_"We're about two blocks east of the Burger King. We were going to go meet Mickey about the case and—"_

"Mickey? Mickey that SHIT! What the hell are you doing talking to that fucking— I thought you were at home! You told me you were going home!" He was on his feet in an instant, shoving his legs into jeans and his socked feet into shoes, Ezio hot on his heels.

_"I LIED OKAY! Look, I was trying to protect you, you ungrateful bastard!"_

"From what! Jesus— you stupid shit, Des! There's a reason he's called 'Weasel' you know! I don't work with him anymore because of it! Why the HELL would you trust that slimy little fuck! I trusted you with this case for a rea—"

_"This shit doesn't just concern Ezio and you had no right to just shove it off on me! This is deep shit, man DEEP SHIT! There's a cop, Altair, a dirty cop—"_

Altair's blood ran cold; "What? Dirty… Jesus Christ, Des, are you shittin me—"

"NO, SHUT UP! You can kick my ass la—Aw, shit… Shaun? Shaun don't look at it."

"What?" Altair's heart raced, "What's going on? Are you OK? Des—DESMOND!"

_"Just look at me, don't think about it!" _

"Des is he hit? Is he hit!"

"What's going on?" Ezio had his jacket on and was following Altair down the stairs, his jeans still unbuttoned; "Whose hit? What's happening?"

"Shauna and Des," Altair said in a growl; "They fuckin walked into a trap and there's a cop in on it!" Altair ground his teeth and practically shouted into the phone; "Get the HELL out of there, Des! Get someplace public, someplace with people! Go—Go back to the Burger King I'll be there in fifteen minutes!" He didn't think, just turned and started running, not even registering the sound of Ezio following him. It took fifteen minutes in a cab to get to that side of town without traffic, it would take thirty on foot, even if he took the easy way… Jesus he didn't know if he was going to make it or not. If Shaun was hit… If Shaun was hurt how fast could Desmond move with him? Was it even possible to move him? What if he was hurt bad… What if he was hurt like Chris had been?

"ALTAIR!"

He peered over his shoulder and saw Ezio running, phone to his ear, motioning for him to turn left at the corner; "C-Claudia… meet us—THAT WAY!"

Altair was tempted to ignore him, if this was about The Case Ezio would be in danger, could be hurt or worse, but every second he stalled, trying to convince Ezio not to follow him, or tried to outrun the younger man was precious seconds that could be counting down the end of Desmond's or Shaun's life.

Altair pressed his phone to his ear, could barely hear Desmond shouting and shouted back at him, unthinking, just shouting because Desmond was cursing in absolute terror; _"Run—RUN GET OUT OF THERE!"_

And then there was silence.

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Altair didn't stop running, couldn't, pushed himself hard until he saw Claudia's little red hybrid coming down the street, horn honking lights flashing to get his attention. He ran up and threw the door open, jumping in, Claudia had her foot on the gas again, speeding the fifty or so feet to where Ezio was coming around the corner, tires screeching, door open and Ezio diving into the back seat. Off again before the door even shut.

Altair was trying to call Shaun's phone but kept getting the message that Shaun wasn't taking calls. He cursed loudly and almost chucked his phone at the windshield but Desmond took it away from him, mumbling, thumbs working; "You've got Latitude, calm the fuck down… As long as Shaun and Desmond's phones are online you've got their location right in your hand!" He pulled up the app and shoved it back into Altair's grip.

Altair remembered this program from his time in the hospital and a wave of relief washed over him, eyes locked on the screen as it loaded; "Call my brother, tell him there's a situation… Tell him everything he wants to know."

Claudia had her own phone out and was dialing, "It's the first Burger King on Seventy-Eighth, right?"

"Yeah," Altair said, teeth grinding together because neither Desmond's nor Shaun's little blip were showing up on the screen. Ezio's was right next to his own, and Malik's was across town at the print shop.

"Detective Hayes?" Ezio's voice was calmer than he looked; "I'm sorry to bother you at home but we have a bit of a situation—"

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There was no sign of them at the Burger King. The cashier said she remembered Desmond, that he'd come in and bought a Triple Whopper with Cheese, fries and a large Coke. "He was with this tall skinny redhead with one of those Bell Umbrellas? You know the clear ones like from the sixties?"

Altair nodded; "And?"

"Oh, they left about half an hour ago, walked that way… Their car's right there, a couple guys came and were looking at it a little bit ago but they took off. Guess they didn't think it was worth trying to steal."

"Have you seen either of them since?"

"Who the goons or the guy and his boyfriend?"

Altair let his breath out slowly. "Desmond and the redhead."

"Oh, no… Sorry."

Altair nodded, told Ezio and Claudia to wait there for him and if he wasn't back in twenty minutes to go directly to Maria and Giovanni's and stay there.

Altair took off at a jog down the street the cashier had indicated, his stomach gone cold when he found the car with the bullet holes and broken windows… Found the remains of Desmond's burger and Shaun's umbrella. There were blood stains on the alleyway wall shaped like handprints. Altair walked the length of the alley and on the next street over saw the destruction before he even got near it. There were a group of homeless people picking up the change scattered across the street. He jogged up frightening two of them away but was able to coerce one of the older men to talk to him, asking as calmly as he could what had happened.

"Drunk took out the parking meters," He said bending and picking up some quarters and dimes. "Not bad… Just gotta clean it up quick before the police get here to confiscate it."

Altair nodded and started helping him pick it up, trying to get some more out of him; "Did you see what happened?"

"No, can't see much anymore… You should ask Bernie over there," He jerked his chin toward a stooped older man with layers of plastic bags duct taped to his feet; "He found a pretty knife. He may have seen something."

Altair nodded, handed over the handful of nickels he'd picked up and walked slowly over to Bernie, calling out as he did; "Hey, Bernie? Mind if I join you?"

"Ask him for his number, Bern! He's a cutie!" The older man with the bad eyes called, laughing his smoker's laugh.

Altair blushed and Bernie turned yellowed eyes to him; "Don't mind him, he's crazy as shit…" He crouched and picked up a few more coins then looked up again; "You're too good lookin' to be from around here, what do you want? You're not a cop are you?"

Altair shook his head; "Did you see what happened here?"

"Not for pocket change I didn't," He stooped and started stuffing more into his pockets, shouting loudly and stomping at an older woman with a toboggan over her grizzled white hair as she got too close to him.

The woman backed off like a frightened animal and Bernie went back to filling his pockets. He glanced sidelong at Altair; "Come on, pretty thing like you? You've got to have something more than a pocket full of nickels in there."

Altair fished in his pockets and pulled out a few crumpled dollar bills and held them out; "That's all I got."

Bernie took it with a disappointed sigh and flattened the bills out, folding them carefully and tucking them into the pocket of his shirt; "About four thugs chasin two little boys up the street… Nearly ran 'em over but the dark headed one done one of them Matrix moves, you know," He mimicked a praying mantis pose with his eyes wide and his lips pursed; "He done did one of them things off a parking meter. I mean, I thought I'd seen everything but then some scrawny little white boy catches air like that, jumped clean over that car!"

"Ninja shit!" the other man said loudly.

Bernie rolled his eyes; "Carl, this don't concern you!"

Altair made a rolling motion with his hand; "And? What happened?"

"You see thugs in a car chasing two kids down the street in THIS neighborhood you turn and run the other way unless you wanna end up dead. That's all I saw."

"Are you sure?"

"I'd tell you if I knew, honey, but that's really all I saw. When you've been out here as long as I have you learn when to stick around and when to run like hell… I ran like hell."

"He… Carl, there said you found a knife."

Bernie hesitated, then slid his hand into his pocket and pulled it out, flipping it expertly in his hand and holding it out, hilt first, to Altair.

Altair sighed in frustration when he got a good look at the thing. It was familiar, frighteningly familiar… The same knife he'd stuck in the floor between Shaun and Desmond months ago when they'd been fighting so much.

"You son of a bitch, Des…" He ground his teeth and handed it back to Bernie; "You hang around here often?"

He nodded and carefully tucked the knife back again.

"I'll come back in a few days and buy that off you, alright?"

Bernie squared his shoulders and picked at his jacket lapel, giving Altair a look up and down and a little grin; "It's a date then."

Altair smiled politely, returned to the opposite side of the street and started looking frantically for any clue, any indication as to what had happened.

Altair's phone rang and he jerked it quickly out of his pocket and pressed it to his ear; "Hello?"

"Hey," Walker's voice was serious; "The kid said you were in trouble. I'm coming up Seventy-eight now, where are you?"

Altair told him and disconnected the call. Sure enough as soon as the sirens were audible the people gathering the scattered meter change scattered.

Walker was in a marked cruiser, Altair wondered briefly where he'd got it but climbed into the passenger seat anyway and reactivated the location app on his phone. Shaun's blip had lit up.

"Meat packing district, we can make it in twenty minutes if we hurry," Walker said peering at the image on the screen, he pushed his foot down on the gas and didn't look back.

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	87. Chapter 87

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**Chapter 87; Scream**

Altair called Ezio as soon as they'd left the immediate vicinity of Seventy-Eighth. "I need you to go to your parents', I'll come get you as soon as I find them."

"Altair… I—I've got a really bad feeling about all this shit and I—"

"Ezio… I don't want you to get hurt. Just—please, please, do this for me."

Ezio took a deep breath and let it out slowly; "Okay… Okay, I'll wait up for you. Just—just be careful, please."

"I will," He ended the call and turned back to Walker, breath coming out in a slow uneasy sigh.

Walker was quiet, just the dull scream of the tires and the siren hidden in the grill of his car as he made his way around and through traffic. "Are you sure they're there?"

"Yeah," Altair held up his phone and pointed to Shaun's blip on the map. "At least Shaun is, I think Desmond's phone is dust though so I'm hoping they're still together."

Walker nodded and hunched himself over the wheel, "I hope you're right… What did he say when he called you?"

"That he was being shot at—I think Shaun was hit, should we call an ambulance to meet us there?"

"I'll take care of it… What else did he say?"

Altair rubbed his face wearily; "That there was a dirty cop. Someone tampering evidence."

"Does he know who it is?"

"I don't know, we got cut off before he could tell me."

"Are you sure? Anything at all could prove vital."

"He was scared, Walker. It was like he just wanted to tell me everything all at once in case something happened to him, it was like he'd expected it. And he mentioned Mickey. I told him—I specifically told him not to contact Mickey, not to trust what he says because the filthy little bastard couldn't be trusted not to purposefully go out and FIND someone to sell you out to—why the fuck someone hasn't wasted him already I'll never know— Desmond KNOWS that, he's not that stupid! He—he just… It was like he did it on purpose. Just to piss me off or something," His eyes were burning. "Fuck, Walker what if this guy… what if this leak got him? What if they're going after Ezio?"

"Don't worry about it, just stay focused… Where are they now?"

Altair looked back down at his phone; "Same place," He sank his fingers into his hair and pulled. "Christ, Walker, if he did do this on purpose, if he did use himself as bait? He has to have something. Something big…" He rapped his knuckles on his head a few times in thought and with a scoff his hand sprang away as if a light had gone on in his head; "That's it… He figured it out. He's got evidence… Jesus, he has evidence or else he never would have stuck his neck out like this!"

Walker remained silent.

Altair's brows scrunched and he dialed Malik's number grinding his teeth when it rang five times before the other man answered.

"Hello?"

"Mal, listen. I need you to go down to my office, OK? You know where I hid the key to the file cabinet, I want you to get all Desmond and Shaun's notes, see if you can catch their train of thought—You're good at that."

"What? You—you actually WANT me to get into your files? That just takes all the fun out of it!" But Altair could hear his feet on the stairs going down, the scuff of bare feet on the rug and the click of the doorknob as it opened. Malik grumbled when he had to sit the phone down to get the key, and grumbled some more as he opened the cabinet; "Alright, heeeere we go… Oh… Did they file under the first name or the last?"

"What? I don't know, it's Desmond," He rubbed his brow; "Sometimes I think he translates them into fuckin' Elvish and files them."

Malik's fingers walked over the file tabs; "Altair it—it's not here."

"What do you mean it's not there?"

"There's the kidnapping file, but the break in isn't here. I know what it looks like, it's got a coffee stain on the front and it's not here."

"Well keep looking, it has to be there. Look under 'D', he may just be narcissistic enough to put it under his own name."

Malik pulled open the drawer, carded through; "No… not here."

"Malik, it has to be there. Is it on the desk?"

"No, the desk is clean, so is Shaun's."

"Look in the drawers," Altair's heart was thumping heavily in his chest. Each drawer squeaked as it was pulled out, rummaged through and pushed back in.

"Nothing but a few comic books, some burger wrappers and a titty magazine… I hope to God this isn't yours. I thought you had better taste than this… The photos aren't even that good—"

"Malik, stay on task here, where is that file! It can't have just walked off on its own!"

"I don't know, maybe they took it?"

"No… He left it there, I saw it this morning when I went in to change the voice mail message on the phone. It was on the desk! There were pictures sticking out of it."

Malik sighed; "Well, it's not there now. Unless they've devised an ingenious hiding place or Shaun managed to cut into the fabric of space time and make his own interdimensional filing cabinet it's not in this office!"

"Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure?"

"No, Altair, I'm sitting in your chair eating bonbons looking at pornography—Yes I'm sure!"

"We have to find that file, Malik, it's got evidence in it… There was a cop in on it, Mal. There's been a cop messing with evidence for years and Shaun and Des have evidence against him!"

"There's a cop in on it? A cop was helping men kidnap children?"

"Yeah, and worse… Fuck, Mal this is deep shit, Des was right about that. This is not good, really—REALLY not good… How the fuck do you expose a cop?"

"Don't worry about it right now just—just calm down," Malik said in a sigh; "I'll call Shaun's place, maybe his sister's there. Maybe she knows where the file is."

"Yeah, OK… Let me know."

Malik disconnected the call and Altair leaned back in his seat, rubbing his face.

"What's wrong?" Walker said, his face scrunched; "What are you talking about 'gone' what's gone?" He reached over and gently took Altair's phone, clicking back to the map and setting it in the GPS cradle on his dashboard.

"Des and Shaun took the case file out of the office. Malik's trying to track it down… Why the fuck did they take it out of the office?" He rubbed his face and pointed as they came around a corner, a three story tall brick structure set off in its own lot, surrounded by a rusted, overgrown by ivy and weeds chain link fence; "SHIT! THERE! THERERIGHTTHERE!"

Walker cut the wheel hard and the cruiser went over the curb thumpbumpbang, lights flashing, siren quiet. He circled the building, finding on the southern facing side the gate was wide open. Altair had the door open before the car was even fully stopped in the lot, running toward the building.

The large front doors were cracked open and Altair slid inside without much difficulty the streetlight's glow suddenly cut off in gloom. It was pitch black in there, utterly, completely dark.

Altair's hands came up, feeling around contacting roughhewn wooden pallets stacked taller than he could reach, old shipping crates and mountains of musty newspaper. The whole place smelled of rot and mouse urine and stale sex mixed with lake water.

"SHAUN!" His voice echoed back back back and was swallowed by all the debris and ruin concealed in the cave like room. "DESMOND!"

Walker pushed in through the door, mag light in hand, fixed on Altair's face. He was breathing deeply, slowly as if to steady himself.

Altair turned and lifted a hand to shield his face. "Did you call an ambulance?"

"I took care of it."

Altair turned and started looking for a pathway around all the clutter. "They're in here somewhere—SHAUN!"

"They're probably toward the back, it opens up back there."

Altair didn't think, just let out a curse, turned and started climbing the nearest stack of pallets. Walker trained his light on him.

"Can you see anything up there, Al?"

"No…" He took a deep breath and let it out in a cough, "It fuckin' reeks up here! Like bat shit and kerosene," Another cough and he was digging in his pocket for his keys and the little pen light Malik had given him years ago, a surplus promotional item from the print shop's 'Grand Opening' the beam of light was by no means substantial but it worked when you needed it and that was all he cared about at the moment, shining it left and right, picking his path three steps ahead before he started moving, heart thumping because the towers of pallets shook ominously as he moved.

Walker helped when he could, shining his light up through the maze and casting eerie slatted shadows across the towering ceiling. Once or twice he did attract some bats, but Altair ducked and pulled his hood over his head in a pathetic attempt to keep them out of his hair,

Then, suddenly, Altair couldn't see Walker's light anymore and the whole place was quiet.

"Walker?"

Nothing.

"Walker!"

He barely heard the click and froze, unsure if what he'd heard was what he'd heard but at the same time certain to his very core. His eyes flicked down into the chasm between crates and pallets at his feet, there was a soft little yellow glow and in it he could see his brother's face, hollow and alien looking lit by such a small flame.

It was such a little thing, just a stupid silver cigarette lighter, Dad had got one when he'd retired from the Marines, gold with a silver crest on it. He used it to light his barbecue in the back yard. Altair had bought one in London when he Malik and Kadar had been laid over there on their way overseas. It had a big Union Jack on one side and a double decker bus in front of Parliament and the London Bridge on the other with 'LONDON, ENGLAND' in white along the bottom and when you clicked the button the flame jetted out quickly and changed colors. Kadar had got a black one with a portrait of the British Coat of Arms and when you opened it, it played the first few notes of The Queen's March and had for a while played it whenever he came into their barracks or really when he entered any room he wouldn't get in trouble. Malik thought they were both nuts. This one though, did not stir a sense of nostalgia or humor in Altair. It made him very, keenly aware of the stench of kerosene in the air and all the lovely, bone dry kindling he was standing on; all the newspaper and moth eaten tarps, the stacks upon stacks of old termite eaten pallets that cracked and shifted beneath his feet. His hackles rose and his mouth became very, very dry. "Hey, uh… y-your flashlight break?"

Walker looked up, his expression serene and shook his head. "No."

"W-what're you doin' then?"

Walker shrugged innocently, lips pulling down, brows going up and locked eyes with Altair. "Tying up loose ends, you?" And he tossed the lighter to his feet, taking a simultaneous step backward, eyes squinted in the sudden flare of light and heat.

Altair's jaw dropped and for a brief second he couldn't reconcile the image of Walker the detective, Walker the father, Walker his adoptive brother with THIS man. This man who had just tossed a lighter onto what was essentially Altair's impromptu funeral pyre.

The flames shot outward first, following a twisting, winding trail of fuel in seemingly random pathways, wider and wider and wider until the whole warehouse was illuminated like some medieval banquet hall in golds and ambers. Then the flames shot UP, climbing stacks of pallets and crates and devouring newspaper like something alive, something angry— something HUNGRY.

Altair's arms came up shielding his face from the initial burst of heat then lowered his arms and stared down at Walker in shock. His mouth opened to shout, to demand an explanation a sheer 'WHAT THE FUCK, MAN!' moment but before he could do anything but inhale to prepare himself for speech he saw Walker completely, saw that where there had been a mag-light in his hand a second ago, now there was a gun.

It was pure instinct that saved him in the end. Instinct driven home by military training and almost eleven years as a PI.

_DUCK!_

The gun went off, a loud POP, almost hidden in the crackle and roar of fire around them.

Altair felt the impact like a punch, high on his right shoulder and was kicked backward by it more than actual purposeful movement. He stumbled, fell and almost rolled right off into pure flame as the stack of pallets he landed on gave way beneath him. He managed to lash out, grabbing the next stack and rolled onto it and to his feet, putting as much distance between himself and Walker as he could, eyes wide, coughing raggedly from the mixture of smoke, heat and his breath being knocked out by the pain radiating across his chest and down his arm.

Walker fired four more shots after him, each hitting pallets right on his heels, kicking up sharp sprays of splinters that fell into the fire and were devoured.

Walker backed away from the flames, pulling the collar of his jacket over his nose and mouth, eyes teary and squinted and made for the door. It was an easy path, the others had made sure to leave the first quarter of the warehouse free of kerosene, most of the fuel was concentrated around the offices in the back, hoping to burn fast and hot enough to destroy evidence of what they had done. He stood there for a moment, staring, gun still lifted and at the ready. There was only one way out of that building now, and he had it covered. All he had to do now was wait. Wait and hoped the damned place burned to the ground before the firemen got there. It wouldn't take much, the place was old anyway. He just had to make sure enough of the evidence was covered that the bodies could render little DNA evidence. And if they happened to do just that to spite him, he could manipulate it easily enough, it wasn't that hard. He jogged over and climbed into the car then sat there a moment breathing in clean air before he snatched Altair's phone out of the GPS cradle and in a whim he checked the text messages, five of them, that had arrived for the PI.

_I made it. _

_Did you find anything yet?_

(Two missed calls)

_Altair?_

_Altair answer me. _

_Altair?_

Walker took a deep breath and let it out slowly, looked up to gage the progress of the fire and turned it the phone off, then tucked it safely in his inner jacket pocket. He would dispose of it later. He waited a few more seconds then shut his door and backed quickly out of the lot. He still had business to take care of.

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	88. Chapter 88

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**Chapter 88; Nothing Else **

Altair had never liked fire. The very idea of being trapped in a burning building frightened him, something so simple, something children often played with, something he encountered on a daily basis or when he lit a candle in his bathroom just because he liked the way it flickered and made everything feel so much closer, so much more detailed… How he liked to catch Ezio when he was asleep and light one on the bookshelf by his bed just so he could watch the light dance over the young Italian's naked skin. The very concept that something like that would roar and eat and whip around him in wild, seething abandon, undoing stone and rock and flesh frightened him.

At first, he ran to get away from Walker and his gun… Then he ran to get away from the flames… Then he ran because he remembered why he was here, remembered Shaun and Desmond could be somewhere in this building, burning, dying or already dead and he felt a harsh jag of panic tear into the bottom of his stomach, arching toward his heart.

The smoke and heat stole his breath, made his eyes water and his exposed skin slowly, slowly start to burn. Sharp, bright and like lightening along all his nerves.

He'd seen bodies burned up once. Remembered being overseas and picking through a bombed out building, finding two tiny blackened corpses huddled behind a broken door thin branch like arms wrapped around one another. The smell had been awful, burned hair and something like pork burned to ashes. Bitter and sour and sweet all at once, Altair hadn't been able to reconcile that smell and those twisted blackened cinders as any human until that moment and had clapped a hand to his mouth, turned his head and was sick through his fingers.

Nobody had laughed at him and he didn't know why but that made him feel worse.

He could imagine it all to clearly, some cop, some fireman finding him buried beneath half burned pallets dead and twisted like those two kids had been. Teeth blackened and cracked, skin ashy and pulled away from his mouth. He could picture them finding Desmond and Shaun like that and for a brief moment Altair went insane. He screamed back at the fire like a madman and ran over the towers of pallets and crates like one possessed, barely feeling them crack and pop beneath his feet, or the flames that shot up through them like the grate in his father's barbecue. Had a brief frightening mental image of himself barbecued and his left leg sank down between two broken slats and into flame.

He shouted again, more in fear of being trapped than actual pain. He was too frightened in that moment to feel pain even as his shoelaces caught fire and his pant leg as well. He'd smashed his groin spectacularly but aside from that overwhelming dull pressure in his abdomen he felt nothing, just an instinctual, reptilian need to get AWAY from this goddamned fire! He wrenched his let out of the hole, smacking at the fire singing away the hair on his legs and got it put out just about the time the stack of pallets beneath him gave way. Colliding with a burning pile of newspaper beside them and sending the whole thing sliding like an avalanche toward the preverbal lake of fire between the maze and that twenty foot wide causeway between the warehouse main floor and the wall of office space at the other end.

It was providence really, that the newspapers had been stacked so because they had been so thickly and densely piled that although the fire was all over them, when the mountain toppled the core of it was exposed, untouched by flame, creating a temporary island amid the burning hell. Altair tumbled, his shoulder banged harshly against splintered wood and the breath came out of him in a bark of pain, curling instinctually around it as he rolled to a stop. He sat up quickly, too perfectly convinced he was now a human torch and screamed at the flames again, staring around himself frantically, gripping his bleeding shoulder as if his life depended on it.

The spilled newspaper had put him in front of a set of stairs leading up, steaming slightly from the heat, but going away from the flame and Altair took the invitation without a moment's hesitation, running as fast as he could up and up and slamming against the door at the top of the stairs. He could see fire already burning on the other side in the hallway and with a snarl and a gut wrenching cough, pulling his shirt back up over his mouth and nose he aimed a kick at the door and nearly fell backward down the stairs again when he rebounded instead of knocking it in.

He snarled and tried one more time, gripping his shoulder tightly as counter pressure.

The door didn't burst inward like he'd expected but the wooden frame around it cracked enough that Altair flipped his knife out of his sleeve where he kept it hidden and managed to slide the blade between the lock's tongue and its socket, popping it open and launching himself into the hallway, door slamming shut behind him.

It was probably even more smoky in here than it had been in the warehouse. Nowhere for the smoke to escape to. He tried to breathe but found his throat felt hot and parched and thick, like it had when he'd got bronchitis a few years ago and wound up in bed hacking up stuff the color of pea soup, he coughed and spat away from himself and shouted as loudly as he could;

"SHAUN! DES!" Then started forward on his knees, right arm tucked to his chest, fingers curled around the bleeding, trying to still his arm from shaking weakly, left hand feeling along the floor in front of him, knife at the ready, just in case. "DES!"

He was essentially blind, his eyes stung viciously and tears and ash had gummed up on his face. He started coughing again and nearly collapsed on his face.

Some of the roof tiles above his head cracked and dropped cinders on him little burning pinpoints on his shirt, jacket and hands. He crawled forward faster, pleading and shouting as loudly as he could; "DES!"

He bowed his head, hacking, thought he may just spit out a lung and noticed a dark smear against the tile beneath him. He studied it for a second, glanced up and saw it continued… Blood. It was blood. Dried, but not that old and it lead beneath a closed doorway just ahead of him. He crawled faster and raised himself to his knees, wrapping a hand around the knob and twisting. It gave half a turn and refused to go any farther. Locked.

Altair pulled his coat over his face and forced himself unsteadily to his feet. It was harder to move now, harder to breathe as the fire ate all the oxygen out of the air.

There wasn't enough room in the hallway to kick the door in so he bit into his jacket, turned his left shoulder toward the door and rammed it as hard as he could.

It's no easy feat knocking in a door like this, he'd known, but the door was old, the warehouse half rotted and when it gave way Altair nearly stumbled clean through and into the room.

The door flew open with a crash, hinges pulling through the wood and he stumbled into the room with a gasp, lungs filling with the thick scent of sick and sweat and something dark, coppery and…

His eyes landed on them the instant he was able to still himself from his stumble, widening and widening until they felt like they were about to fall out of his skull.

But, there they were. Curled together with desperately clutching limbs, still and quiet and unmoving like sleeping babes.

The second thing Altair saw was the blood… The sheer horrific puddle of it under them, staining Shaun's trouser legs and Desmond's white jacket. Red… redredred. Too much, too muchtoomuch!

Altair barely registered the blood before his eyes adjusted to the gloom and he realized where it was coming from, that he could see the pale line around Desmond's thin waist and blood—so much. The distorted bruised lump of his left hip and how his bare leg was lying at such an unnatural angle. There were bruises on his sides shaped like hands.

Altair turned, bowed his head and was sick, only coming back to himself when he heard a great crash outside the room as the hallway ceiling collapsed in on itself and flames jumped at him like living sentient creatures bent on devouring him. He slammed the door tightly breathing in the smoky sick stench of the room and in a moment of clarity wrenched his jacket off, hissing as he had to move his injured arm and stuffed the stained, ruined fabric against the crack at the foot of the door. It wasn't much of a barrier, but it had to be enough. It just had to.

He forced himself forward, crouching and pressing fingers to Shaun's throat, finding a pulse beneath the bruised flesh, tilting the young Brit's head up and staring at the blackened marks on his face, the bloody crusted tear in his bottom lip and the similar rip in the soft flesh at the edge of his mouth. His nose was bleeding and he let out a tortured whimpering noise when Altair tilted his face up, eyes squeezing closed, abused muscles in his jaw tensing as he clenched his teeth.

"Shaun?"

He received no response.

Altair looked down but couldn't bring himself to touch Desmond… There was… there was too much blood and his hands shook, images of deserted dusty streets and sterile hospital rooms flashing in his mind's eye.

Kadar screaming with a whole in his chest and Chris—lively laughing sarcastic Chris lying still—so still— with tubes in his throat and part of his forehead missing.

Altair couldn't touch him, just couldn't, so instead he went to the lone window at the back of the room, forced it open and started screaming at the top of his abused lungs for help.

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	89. Chapter 89

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**Chapter 89; Horror Story**

Ring, ring ring ring ringringringring… voicemail.

_"Do I do it now?" _

_"Yes!" _

_"Okay… This is Altair's phone. I'm busy, call back later." _

_A pause._

_"Which button ends it?"_

Ezio hangs up and dials again.

Ring, ring ring ring ringringringring… voicemail.

_"Do I do it now?" _

_"Yes!" _

_"Okay… This is Altair's phone. I'm busy, call back later." _

_A pause._

_"Which button ends it?"_

Ezio hangs up and dials again.

Ring, ring ring ring ringringringring… voicemail.

_"Do I do it now?" _

_"Yes!" _

_"Okay… This is Altair's phone. I'm busy, call back later." _

_A pause._

_"Which button ends it?"_

Ezio hangs up and dials again.

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Malik tried to call three times before he knew with a sick wrenching in his chest, that something had gone very, very wrong. His wife and children were upstairs asleep and Malik crept into the living room, phone held to his ear by his shoulder and clicked on the TV, he manipulated the volume down very low and sat there in the dark, glasses perched on his nose flipping to the local news and praying—just praying that there was nothing.

What he saw instead was a fire. A warehouse was ablaze. There were four pumper trucks and a helicopter as well as the news chopper circling. The firemen were extending a ladder up to a window at the rear of the flaming building and the chopper hovering over them had a spotlight on the window.

The tagline at the bottom of the screen says; 'Men Trapped in Warehouse Fire'.

Malik sat there breathing slowly until the news reporter herself started speaking and another camera view was shown of traffic backed up on the highway, people out of their cars and watching while EMTs tried to get to a multicar pileup.

Malik waited long enough for the reporter to say where the fire was, where the accident as and what one should do to avoid the area and was on his feet.

He left a quick note pinned to the fridge, snatched up his car keys and was gone.

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It was a man named Blaze who found him, ironically enough. Blaze was Puerto Rican, had a lovely accent and when Blaze pulled his mask off after finally getting Altair down the ladder and picked him up without effort to rush to the second waiting ambulance Altair had a strange notion to kiss him but before he could truly contemplate that, or do much other than hang there in the fireman's arms like the worst fucking limpet in any of those stupid romance novels he sometimes picked up, there was a large woman with short frizzy black hair peering up his nose and prying his mouth open with a plastic stick to look down his throat. He dry heaved in response but managed not to vomit on her. She called a clear and pushed an oxygen mask on over his face, moving aside to collect things out of plastic overhead compartments as a skinny man with thinning silver hair was cutting his shirt off to get at the wound on his shoulder.

"Sir, I'm gonna need you to lay back and try to relax, OK? I'm gonna try to get an IV in your arm here to get some fluids in you, alright?" He didn't wait for a reply, just sat to work, scrubbing Altair's arm clean with wet wipes and sanitizing swabs before tying a large rubber band around his bicep and trying to pop a vein to the surface.

"S'okay," He said in a breathless rasp; "Where are they?" He coughed, his whole body flowing with the spasms as the two EMTs tried to hold him down then couldn't stop himself from grabbing the nearest one and practically shouting to be heard over the roaring in his ears; "Des… Christ—Des, is OK?"

The guy glanced up to the woman and back to what he was doing.

"They're doing everything they can," The woman said soothingly, trying to pin him gently back to the gurney. "Now, tell me your name, date of birth and social."

He did, then grabbed at her again; "Phone—phone I-I need—Fuck. I need help! He-he's got a gun!"

"It's OK, honey, you're safe… Now as soon as Nicholas there pushes that IV he's gonna give you something to help you relax while I take a look at your shoulder, is that OK?"

Altair shook his head; "Des—Where's Des," His eyes were wide, barely coherent under the bright lights and the oxygen deprivation and the burns in his sinuses and throat. He coughed and his whole body seemed to seize. "Fucking—m-man down—Where's the medic!"

He knew it wasn't real, knew in some part of his mind at least that he was in Chicago in an ambulance, not pinned to the ground while medics took Kadar away in a body bag and Malik to a hospital in pieces, but he couldn't stop himself from feeling the desert heat on his skin, smell that spice in the air and the stink of burned flesh and blood mixed with gasoline.

He couldn't stop it from flashing in his head like a strobe light, blinking and blinking and blinking. Stabbing through his core like a knife on a lightning bolt. He hurt and his skin burned and he'd seen Desmond with blood on him lying so still with handprints on his hips and he'd KNOWN—oh CHRIST he'd known and he couldn't just UNKNOW things like that!

Desmond had told him, had TOLD him that this case was wrong, that Altair shouldn't have shoved it off on him, but Altair had been too scared, to worried about protecting Ezio he'd forgot about Desmond. Forgot to worry about the young man who'd been his responsibility for ten years now!

"Oh—oh shit… shit—" He yanked his arm out of Nicholas' grip and tried to cover his face with it, but it was pinned down again and in his head all he could picture were hands in the darkness touching Desmond, hurting him—HURTING him and Altair hadn't been there to stop it. Had been the cause of it! If Desmond hadn't had the case he wouldn't have been in such immediate danger. He wouldn't have had to use himself as bait to get evidence. He would have been somewhere where he could protect himself, not alone in the middle of the street! Not hurt and bleeding while someone—while someone—

Nicholas called up softly from Altair's arm, trying to sound calm so not to excite him further. "I can't get the IV in, his blood pressure's dropping."

The woman leaned over him again speaking firmly to try and get through to him; "Altair, I need you to breathe! It's going to be alright but you have to breathe! Please don't make me have to sedate you I don't want to do that to you but if you can't calm down I'm gonna have to."

He looked up at her and went still, blinking back sticky tears that wouldn't stop flowing, coughing past the constricting, coated feeling in his throat and chest, the cold BURN of each breath. "Oh-oh Christ I—I can't do this—" He tried fitfully to pull at the sticky little pads the woman was attaching to his chest to monitor his heart rate but she grabbed his free hand instead and squeezed it.

"It's alright, just breathe with me, Altair… Breathe."

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	90. Chapter 90

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**Chapter 90; Fate, Faith and the Big Goodbye **

Malik cut across the city as quickly as he could. There were a few hospitals in Chicago, but this one was the closest to the scene of the fire and therefore the most logical for the men to be taken. He hoped, PRAYED that he was wrong and he was going there to see strangers, but… Then he'd gotten the call;

"Is… is this Malik Al Sayf?"

"Yes, who is this?" Malik was cutting through traffic at the time and had his phone on speaker in his lap.

"This is Sergeant Alva Cochran… I've been asked to inform you that Altair's being taken to the hospital, he was—"

Malik felt cold and let his breath out slowly; "I already know, I saw it on the TV."

Alva was quiet for a moment, regrouping and Malik could hear Altair shouting not far away, but for a minute he didn't sound like Altair, didn't even sound human.

His voice had been a hollow rasp, raw and burned and choked; "Des—" He'd coughed so loud and hard Malik's chest had ached in sympathy; "—hurt, they're hurt… G-get the f-fucking med-medic… Oh, Christ the blood!" He couldn't seem to stop coughing and the paramedics had swarmed him, muttering to Sergeant Cochran that they should probably sedate him because he was obviously in shock and too much pain to think straight.

"GET AWAY FROM ME!" Altair had roared and the paramedics were talking loudly, trying to calm him, trying to ease him out as Malik imagined them sticking a needle in, pushing away all thought.

Malik's eyes were wide, frantic and his phone was to his ear, leaving let another message for Ethan Miles and yet again getting no reply.

He heard the ambulance pull up, the roar of sirens and engine, the shout of the EMTs as they popped open the doors and pulled the stretcher out. Malik hadn't known what to expect but when those double doors opened and a gurney had pushed past him, a woman in EMT blues astride the still, ashen figure on the bed, counting out compressions while another running beside the stretcher manually pumping air into his lungs, screaming out for a crash cart Malik had seen the last ten years of his life flash before his eyes and he'd acted on instinct, running after them shouting, wait—WAIT!

And then, as he'd got near the glass walled cubicle he'd heard the unthinkable;

"Patient is male, Caucasian, age twenty-one, name Desmond L. Miles…" She rattled off his social security number. "I need four units of O-Negative—"

"We've got no pulse! Where's that crash cart!"

"Wait—" A nurse shouted stepping into the room with the young man's medical file held over her head; "Stop everything, he's DNR! Stop everything!"

Malik lunged forward, shoving the curtain aside and snatched the file from her hand; "WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE! DON'T YOU DARE STOP! WHO—WHO SIGNED THIS PIECE OF SHIT ORDER!" He rushed out of the cubicle still holding the file, followed by a doctor and two nurses and when he saw the signature on the big red tag he very nearly collapsed.

The doctor grabbed the file but Malik didn't let go and met the man's eyes with dark certainty holding it out of his reach; "Don't you _dare_ stop treating him… Use everything you've got, do you understand me? Don't you fucking _DARE_ lose him!"

"That's a Do Not Resuscitate order, sir, we don't—"

"He's had a birthday, it's expired, don't you DARE stop treating him!"

The doctors and nurses looked back and forth at one another in silence for a moment then the doctor looked back at Malik with his brows drawn down; "It's not your choice, the power of attorney has to make that decision… We'll continue what we're doing until he can be contacted and that decision made."

Malik glanced around at the nurses and doctors surrounding him, file still held up over his head like a knife, or a grenade or something. He spoke, felt his voice trembling and willed it down; "Don't you DARE stop treating him, do you understand me? Don't you DARE!" And he slapped the file back into the doctor's hands, took one last look at the EMT's switching off with nurses to continue chest compressions and went for the door, phone raised and dialing Ethan's number one last time.

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Malik was angry. Which wasn't saying anything really, he was angry quite a lot, Hadiya said it was his default setting. This time though, Malik was very, very, VERY angry. He pictured in his head as he slammed the door to his car and stomped up to Ethan's building, turning furiously green and attacking the structure. It would be so satisfying to just—just maim something.

His hand shook as he managed to slip in the door as a young woman and her boyfriend were leaving, laughing and holding hands. Malik hadn't wanted to buzz up to the man's apartment simply because he'd been calling for the past half an hour and someone had started simply picking up and slamming the phone back down instead of letting him go to voicemail. So, obviously someone was home, they just didn't particularly want to talk to Malik. Even though, things would have gone a lot more smoothly if they had.

Ethan lived on the fifth floor and Malik bounced his fist against the side of the elevator a few times as it shuddered and groaned its way up the shaft. He had a peculiar burn in his sinuses and his throat felt tight, breath coming harder and more uneven with each passing second. When the elevator stopped Malik forced himself off before the doors were completely open and jogged down the hall, fist balled at his side and ready to punch if it came to it.

There was a TV turned up too loud in one apartment, someone was cooking something with a lot of garlic in another and down at the end of the hall there was a baby crying.

Malik took a deep breath and knocked against the door five times in rapid succession. A few moments later without a reply, he knocked again and spoke in a firm voice, swallowing when he realized how strained he sounded. "Mr. Miles?"

He heard footsteps, stomping and a woman asking; "Why don't you just ignore it?"

"Just shut up and go back to bed."

Malik ground his teeth and took a small step backward listening as Ethan popped a few locks and pulled the door open, peering out over the slide chain; "What do you want?"

Malik swallowed and forced himself to speak calmly; "Ethan, Desmond's been hurt, he's at the hospital. I tried to call but…"

Ethan shut the door for half a second and pulled the slide chain back, poking his head and shoulders out; "Desmond's what?"

"He was hurt very badly. The doctors couldn't get hold of you, I couldn't get hold of you… You need to come down to the hospital and help clear a few things up."

"Why? He's a big boy, he can take care of himself," He spoke with a tone, a tone that to Malik at least, meant he was quoting his son, something Desmond had said to him when last they'd spoke.

"Did you know that your wife put a DNR order on his medical file?"

Ethan blinks and rocks back a little bit to look Malik up and down; "And?"

"And if it remains on his file, Mr. Miles," Malik almost choked on the words, had to swallow and glance away for a minute before he could continue; "If it remains on his file, you'll be planning a funeral before dawn."

Ethan looks for a moment torn, his cheeks go pale and he gives a shiver. "Let me get my coat," He disappears back inside.

Malik lets out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and has to cover his face, trying to ignore how badly his hand is shaking. He can hear Ethan saying something to his wife.

"Desmond's in the hospital, I-I've got to go and do that whole paperwork thing."

"You need to stop doing this, Ethan. He's a grown man—said so himself. If he really wanted your help he wouldn't have left."

"Don't start."

"He left, he moved out, he doesn't want you around anymore."

"Sophia."

"Don't 'Sophia' me, he's the one who left you. Just like that bitch of a mother of his. Do you think she cares? How many years has it been since she's called you? Since she's called him? They're just alike, Ethan. They don't care about anyone but themselves."

"I'm going to the hospital."

"Oh, so HE'S good enough to get you running by sending a fucking messenger but my c-section doesn't even rank on your scale of importance. Our son doesn't matter to you."

"I told you I'd go to the damned c-section, will you lay off!"

"Yeah, sure. You also said you weren't going to come running next time that ungrateful little shit decided you were good enough to talk to."

"I'm going now."

"Yeah, fine, go on. Go clean up little Desmond's mess again, leave me and a fucking three-year-old alone when I could go into fucking labor any goddamned minute. You know what—fine, go. See if I care," A door slams somewhere in the apartment and a moment later Ethan steps out and locks the door behind him.

The ride to the hospital is silent. Ethan sits still, staring out the window and bouncing his knee nervously.

Malik feels like he might throw up. He hopes—PRAYS—that when they make it back Desmond is still there, that the doctors haven't let him slip away. Malik finds himself remembering being annoyed by the boy at first. How fastfastfast he was always moving. How his little mouth never stopped flapping, how he had so much energy all the time… How kind and innocent and desperate for attention he was. That he'd practically worshiped Altair. Malik remembered having to sit the boy down and explain sex to him a few weeks after the kidnapping when Desmond had walked in on his father and a woman.

Ethan hadn't. Ethan had let his eleven-year-old walk the streets of Chicago at night to get on a train and show up on Malik's doorstep when he wanted alone time with his girlfriends. Ethan had given the boy a five and told him to go get some burgers that he was too tired from work to cook anything, or go get food for his son himself.

Malik felt spiteful, angry—FURIOUS—at the man beside him.

Desmond was in the hospital dying because Sophia had put a DNR on the young PI's medical record and all Ethan had said was 'and?'

Shaun and Altair had arrived while Malik was gone and the staff were looking after them.

Altair was shifting and struggling weakly on his gurney, trying to pull at the straps they'd fastened around his chest, there were red, blistering burns on his hands and face and the doctors had cut right up the leg of his jeans to get to a nasty looking wound on the inside of his calf. The burns there were slightly worse and the skin looked shiny.

The doctor saw him coming and snapped the curtain around the PI closed.

Shaun was limp, pale and there was a bag of fluids flowing into his arm. The nurse was attaching a bag of 'O-Negative' beside it. They had cut his clothing away and he was covered all but his right leg with a sheet. A nurse was applying pressure to a wound there and there was blood all over the front of her paper smock and her gloves. They staff was minimal there, but two doctors were bending over his head, one carefully picking debris from his hair around a swelling lump while another was shining a light in his eyes.

Malik didn't see Desmond anywhere.

Ethan approached the nurses gently, lowered his voice and told them his name, that his son had been admitted and he was the power of attorney.

Malik had followed him, sticking close, a sick feeling in his stomach because he didn't know where they'd taken Desmond and not being able to see the young man was one of the most frightening things. He'd—he'd become attached to Desmond, often found himself thinking of him coming to family get-togethers. Picnics and parties. Got distracted sometimes when filling out paperwork for various insurance policies and nearly put down that he had five children and his wife was expecting two more. He did though, strangely, think of Desmond as a son. An oversized, overaged, brat of a son. He'd seen the boy grow up too quickly in his own opinion and the whole time had craved to give the boy a childhood he deserved. He'd taken Desmond to the movies, to museums, had taken him shopping and helped with homework and helped Desmond get into a good college in the city so they could stay in touch. He and Hadiya and Altair had gone to the boy's high school graduation because Ethan said he had to work, even though Malik knew he could have got off if he'd wanted to.

The nurse frowned at Ethan and led him back to a private glass walled cubicle in the ER, scowling when Malik followed

And there was Desmond.

They crash cart was there and there were sticky pads on Desmond's chest where they had used it on him. They'd cut his clothes away, nurses and doctors moving quickly around and around him, all of them staring with somehow lost expressions on their faces as they scrambled to do something—anything to help.

Fluids, whole blood. There were IVs in each arm and in the top of his right foot, wires and leads coming from every direction.

Malik's chest hurt.

There was blood everywhere and a doctor was moving over his left hip with gloves and tweezers, muttering about a MRI, "Jesus this kid's a mess… Who—what kind of monster would do this…" He peeled his soiled gloves off and turned pulling his paper mask down and meeting both Malik and Ethan's eyes as he exited the room, he turned to Ethan, judging by the man's height and eye color that he must be the father; "Mr. Miles?"

Ethan nodded, he was sickly pale and sweat had broken out on his brow.

"I…" The doctor took a deep breath, "We need to know what to do. You have power of attorney, you're the decision maker here… I'm not going to lie to you. It—it doesn't look good."

Ethan took a shuddering breath and for the first time Malik saw something flicker in the man's eyes. Remorse and pain and fear all rolled into one.

"What happened to him?" Ethan said, there wasn't much sound to it, barely a breath.

The doctor inhaled, looked at the ceiling, took half a step back and met Ethan's gaze again; "Without the MRI we can't be sure, but it—it looks like he was struck with something in the left hip region… It was a significantly forceful blow and from the compaction around the injury I'm willing to bet his pelvis has been fractured in multiple places. That type of injury is very, very dangerous… His abdomen is distended and he—" The doctor hesitates, clears his throat and continues; "We have reason to believe he was raped… He's bleeding internally and—"

Ethan's head dropped forward and he covered his face with a hand. "I… I can't—I can't do this," He turns suddenly and makes for the door but is stopped by a wall of a man that's eight inches shorter than he is and only has one arm.

Malik is staring up at him and there is something in his gaze that Ethan believes is the first evolutionary step in man's ability to kill things by looking at them. Malik doesn't touch him but the threat is there in the way the little man's fist is curled and halfway cocked back at his hip. If he lets loose with that thing Ethan's pretty sure it'll break his jaw, cheekbone and nose in one go.

"Don't," Malik says. His voice is strained, hurt and barely held together.

Ethan moves as if to step around him and Malik follows, voice lifting half an octave as he does.

"Don't!"

Ethan wants to run away from this, wants to not make the decision because it's impossible. It can't be made. He'll just go home and forget this happened, forget any of it happened and he can pretend he doesn't see Desmond anymore because the boy doesn't want to see him. He can pretend Desmond's still out there somewhere doing god knows what and not cold and dead in the ground.

Ethan can't. He CAN'T! Why won't this little man see that!

"He's your son, you do NOT walk away from him. He's hurt and he NEEDS you!"

Ethan swallows back bile and shakes his head; "No… he doesn't. He doesn't need me because I CAN'T… Sophia didn't put the order on his file, I asked her to. I asked her to because I couldn't. I can't stand to see him suffer. I-I freaked out when he'd fall down and scrape his fucking knee! I-I CAN'T handle this! Why do you think I ran away from his mother in the first place! I CAN'T DO THIS!"

"You can't or you won't?"

Ethan shakes his head again; "I can't… It can't be my fault. It's not my fault…" He smiles and there's nothing pleased or amused about it because he's crying and it's just because he's reached the end of his rope, all his cards are played and he has nothing left to show for it, nothing left to hide. "If you think you can do it, then by all means, do it because I can't."

Malik wants to say how pathetic he is, how sick and weak but he can't stop staring, can't close his mouth and kick start his brain to make himself speak. Then Ethan's gone, just hunched shoulders and a wrinkled coat walking down the hallway with his hands over his face.

Malik turns and stares after him and wonders briefly if this is the future of humanity, a man who can't even say two words and save his own son. He fears, in that moment, for the lives and futures of his own children and without hesitation turns and meets the doctors eyes.

"I don't care what you have to do, you help him, do you hear me? You do NOT let him die."

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	91. Chapter 91

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_WARNING!_

_The end of this chapter and the whole of the next deal with and discuss sexual child abuse, so if this upsets you, first off I want to know why you're reading this fic, and secondly you might want to skip to chapter 93 and send me a message so I can summarize these two chapters minus the uncomfortable bits. _

_Personally I hated writing these next few chapters because it brought up some bad memories and I would appreciate it if you, dear readers, try to understand why I wrote them the way I did. I was not and am not trying to be callous or 'shocking' while writing this, I'm just trying to be honest, this type of stuff is not pretty, it's not comfortable and it's not fun to write about._

_So, there, there's your warning._

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**Chapter 91; Like a Knife to the Chest**

The doctors threw around words like 'subdural hematoma' and 'open skull fracture', 'swelling of the brain', 'brain damage' and 'coma'.

Elisabeth Hastings understood it, acknowledged it and politely denied the reality of it. "He's fine," She said simply, her hands shaking as her fingers laced together, pressing down the knees of her trousers. "He's just sleeping. Shaun always has a lie in on Sundays."

Petruccio didn't contradict her and say it was Wednesday, hadn't been Sunday for three days and wasn't likely to be Sunday for another three and it was just as unlikely that Shaun was sleeping then as it would be later. He held her hand when she let him and made tea for her just the way she liked it, asked her to eat and didn't fuss when she said she wouldn't.

It had been one hell of a week, in Petruccio's opinion and as much as it pained him, he couldn't wait for it to be over.

Across the hallway Petruccio saw his brother holding a similar vigil over Altair. The PI was still on oxygen from the heat and smoke damage to his lungs. He had developed a nasty, wet sounding cough that reminded Petruccio of the time he'd had pneumonia while he was on chemo. How he'd been quarantined in the hospital for two weeks and he'd coughed and coughed and it had hurt so much, he winced in sympathy whenever he heard it. Altair though, didn't notice. He had been sedated almost since the moment he'd arrived. Every time they tried to bring him around he would lash out at the doctors and nurses, shout and stare around him with wide, dilated eyes, chin to his chest with his lips rolled back as if he didn't know where he was, or even who he was. Sometimes he would talk in his sleep, would let out soft noises of distress and try to pull his hands from the restraints. The doctors said it was trauma stress. Ezio sat in the corner… they wouldn't let him sit beside the bed, and watched the PI with bloodshot eyes.

Petruccio had been fascinated with the bullet wound in Altair's shoulder, as well as the one in Shaun's thigh. He'd never seen an actually bullet wound before. People in movies he watched got shot, but he'd never known someone personally who had. He didn't think they were cool anymore at all. Shaun's was ugly and heavily bruised. The doctors had had to cut him to get the bullet and 'debris' out. Altair's went right through. Just through the skin and muscle on the top of his right shoulder, they said it had nicked his collar bone but there was no permanent damage and he should heal just fine without physical therapy. Shaun though, Shaun was facing months of it and at some time in a wheelchair… If he woke up.

The doctors threw around words like 'catastrophic blood loss' and 'rape trauma', 'ruptured colon', 'heart attack', 'oxygen deprevation', 'shattered pelvis', 'necrotic tissue', 'infection', 'colostomy', 'multiple surgeries' and 'quality of life'.

Petruccio sometimes wished he didn't have such good memory, or that often insatiable need to know… to ask questions and leave himself at the mercy of the answers.

"It means he was hurt very badly, he lost too much blood and there's a possibility of brain damage…"

"But he'll make it, right?"

"We're doing everything we can."

Mr. Al Sayf hadn't left the hospital in five days. His neatly trimmed goatee was in shambles, and his face looked pale and gaunt. He stayed in the CCU as long as the doctors would let him standing by Desmond's side, asking the doctors questions—hard questions that Petruccio wondered about was afraid to know the answers to, he still couldn't forget the look of absolute fury on Mr. Al Sayf's face that first night, he'd never seen someone that angry before, never and it had been frightening beyond anything Petruccio had yet experienced.

Desmond was held together with more wire and suture and medical adhesive than Petruccio knew a person had the capacity to be held together by. He'd heard Claudia talk about seeing Altair all hooked up to machines and lifeless looking, half dead from infection, but this… How was it possible a person could survive this?

Eli took a deep breath and shifted in her seat. "I yelled at him…"

"Shaun?" Petruccio gave her hand a squeeze and stared at the flaking orange polish on her fingers. "You always yell at him, it's how you two show affection."

"I… I meant it this time though. I yelled at him and I hated him while I did it."

"Well, when he wakes up you'll have to apologize."

Her breath hitches and she bows her head to cry. "I just want him back."

"He'll come back… He's just—he's just hurt and needs to recover."

"I want him back now."

Petruccio sighs and pulls her closer, rubbing her arm. "Do you—do you wanna go talk to him? I've read that sometimes people in comas can year when you talk to them."

"What if he can't?"

"What if he can and nobody's talking to him… He'll—he'll be freaked out… I'd be freaked out."

She nods and climbs to her feet, watching as Petruccio pulls on his backpack and they head to Shaun's room together.

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Ezio hears Desmond's name this time, when Altair stirs on the bed and he watches for a moment, just in case Altair's dreaming, not trying to wake up again.

The PI pulls at the restraints and makes a face as the motion pulls at his shoulder and his burned skin.

Should he call a nurse? He's called a nurse the last four times and Altair's tried to fight them off… Maybe if he just—just goes to the bed himself? Maybe if Altair knows someone familiar is there instead of strange people and strange smells, maybe if Altair knows EZIO is there he won't… won't go away in his head again.

Ezio climbs slowly out of his chair and goes to the side of the bed, gently touching the older man's hair. It's brittle and scorched from the heat of the fire and Ezio wants to cut it, but then again he doesn't because Altair will look different with short hair and he's got so used to it like this.

"Altair?"

Gold eyes pry open and rove about dizzily. He inhales sharply and starts coughing. Ezio doesn't like the sound of it and there's very little of Altair that isn't smeared liberally with ointment to treat the burns or bandaged or strapped down to the bedframe. He sticks with gently carding his fingers through hair.

"Easy… It's alright, take your time… I-I'm not callin' the nurses in, it's just you and me."

Altair flinches at the word 'nurses' and calls out weakly for a medic before his eyes roll back and he's out again for a few seconds. It's not long, there's still quite a bit of sedative in his system and Ezio waits, finds a bit of skin at his hairline, near his ear that isn't too red and tender and touches it, focuses all his caresses on that point and back.

Altair comes back slowly, a scrunch of his face and his eyes crack open, roll threateningly but eventually hone in on Ezio's face. They are dull and a little dilated, but Altair's behind them.

"You're at the hospital… You've been here four days. Everything's…" Ezio can't bring himself to say that everything is OK because it's not and he doesn't want to lie to Altair about something this big, so he takes a slow breath and lets it out; "Everything's shit."

Altair holds his gaze and takes a deeper breath, wincing and trying not to start coughing. "'s Des OK?"

Ezio glances at the bandaging on Altair's shoulder, bites his lip and speaks to the gauze; "He's alive, but it doesn't look good."

Altair swallows with a grimace and gives his head a little shake to try and clear it; "Shaun?"

"The same."

"Really is shitty, huh…" He relaxes back against the bed and tries to wriggle the straps on his wrists. "W'thfuck?" He looks down at them and something settles over him, something that stiffens his muscles and makes chill bumps sprout on the back of his neck. "Gettemoffame."

Ezio blinks; "Altair?"

The PI is visibly shaking but purposefully not moving his hands, just staring down at the restraints with wide eyes; "Ezio… gettemthefuckoffame… right now," His breathing is becoming more rapid and his heart rate is beeping faster on the monitor above his bed.

"Okay, okay… I-I have to get the nurse, but you—you can't freakout, they'll sedate you again if you can't stay still, OK?"

Altair doesn't say a word.

Ezio turns and goes to the door, sticking his head out and calling to one of the nurses at the desk; "Hey—He—he's awake, but you gotta come get these straps off of him right now, they're scaring him."

Two nurses round the desk and come jogging over, a blonde and a woman with short gray hair. The blonde starts talking as she enters the room; "Mr. Hayes, everything's OK, you just have to lie back and relax."

Altair's trembling and when he looks up Ezio sees tears tracking down his face; "Don't call me that. Just—just get these things off me, please!"

The way he says 'please' makes Ezio's gun wrench. He sounds like a little kid. Ezio wonders what has changed, is a little frightened because hadn't Altair said he liked being tied up? Hadn't… Hadn't he made jokes about finding the restraints last time he'd been in the hospital? What was different?

The blonde nurse was talking to him, keeping his focus and asking him basic questions. If he was in pain, if he knew where he was, if he knew what year it was. Altair answered each question and as soon as the last strap was removed, pulled his knees to his chest and hid his face in them.

The blonde told Ezio that she would be back in five minutes with something to help him stay calm, Ezio winced, but nodded and approached the bed slowly.

"Altair?"

"What?"

"Are you alright?"

He coughed a few times and pressed a hand to his shoulder; "No."

"Wanna talk about it?"

Altair swallows again and feels Ezio shift closer still, hears the bed's side rail click and the young Italian climbs in beside him, trying to find a place that doesn't push against his skin.

He doesn't want to talk about it, really doesn't. Wants to forget it happened, but he can't. He can't because that MAN is still out there and he may come back to finish the job and the only way he can be sure his secret is safe is if Altair, Desmond and Shaun are dead and he has that case file, which, Altair knows, he may have already.

"Ezio?"

"Yeah," He strokes his fingers over the older man's hair again.

"I'm gonna lie when the psychologist gets in here and I need to tell you why."

Ezio's brow pulls down but he squares his shoulders; "Okay, why would you do that?"

"I'm gonna lie and tell them I don't remember anything after we got to Burger King the other night."

"Okay, why?"

"So my brother doesn't find out."

Ezio feels a cold swell of unease in his middle; "Why don't you want Walker to find out?"

"Because he tried to kill Des, Shaun and me… and I'm pretty sure he's the one who shot Chris."

Ezio's breath caught in his throat and the room swam for a second. "What? No—Walker? Altair, are you sure?"

Altair was staring at the foot of the bed, unable to meet Ezio's eyes, the whole incident replaying in his head. "He picked me up, drove to the warehouse, sat it on fire then looked me right in the eye and shot me."

"Jesus... Why—why would he do that!"

"To cover up what happened to Shaun and Des… I just got in the way."

"Altair— You, have to go to the police with this!"

Altair shook his head; "It's not easy for one cop to cover up this much shut successfully… There has to be another one, there has to be another leak, or at least people who knew and kept their mouths shut… Were threatened or paid to keep their mouths shut… knowing how much everyone loves Walker they're paid or doing it out of sheer stupid loyalty."

Ezio just watched him, glancing up at the heart monitor every few seconds, or to the bandage on his shoulder, reassuring himself Altair was alright. He took a steadying breath and let it out; "Okay… how are we gonna get around him? How are we gonna stop him and get the bastards who did this?"

Altair's eyes closed tightly, fine tremors running through him because all he could see in his mind was Shaun and Desmond lying there in that lake of blood holding one another. "I don't know… Without that file we're dead in the water… All I can do is lie to this shrink so when Walker finds out—and he will, he'll think I don't remember anything… We—we just have to convince him that Des and Shaun don't remember or can't remember," He opened his eyes and looked up dazedly; "Where are they, I have to talk to them."

Ezio, in that moment, wanted to stop time. Wanted to not say what he knew he had to because it would hurt Altair more and he'd already—WAS—already hurting too much.

"Desmond's in critical condition… He— he lost a lot of blood. He coded three times on the operating table."

Altair's mouth thinned into a pale pinched line and his eyes fell closed.

Ezio took a breath before he could continue; "Shaun had a head wound… an open skull fracture. There was bleeding—"

Altair let out a low sound and folded his left arm up over his head, his right across his chest because it hurt too much to lift it.

"—He's in a coma… I don't know the specifics but I think Petruccio said they're keeping him that way because his brain's swollen."

Altair started rocking slowly, to and fro, breath hitching and wheezing out.

"Altair—"

"It's my fault… Oh, Jesus, Ezio, it's my fault…"

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Malik breathed, that was all it felt like he could do in this situation. He sat there and he waited, stood up and paced around, had a cup of coffee, went out onto the balcony where all the smokers were gathered and called his wife. Ground his teeth because the cigarette smoke made him think of his father, called the man himself and found they had very little to talk about because Malik couldn't explain why he was there, couldn't articulate how he thought of Desmond as his own or why. Then he would breathe again and go badger the desk clerk to let him go back and see the boy again.

Waiting, he decided, was a preview of hell and he hated it.

Desmond had been moved out of the Critical Care Unit the night before and Malik checked on him every chance he got.

Hadiya came with a very upset looking Gadil who had refused, yet again, to go to school.

Malik had gotten a letter from his principal saying Dr. Vidic wanted to start coming to the shop to tutor Gadil every other night since he was struggling so much in class, but then THIS had happened and neither Malik, nor Hadiya had gotten around to calling them back on the subject.

Malik looked over at his son and let out an exasperated sigh, rubbing his face and trying to force down the frustration. He looked up as Hadiya took the seat beside him, Gadil on his other side.

"Any word?" She said softly, looping her left arm through the crook of his and holding her stomach with the other.

Malik took a deep breath, all he seemed able to do correctly anymore was breathe, "They had to take him in for another surgery, the infection's just—" He bows his head and Hadiya leans into his shoulder.

"He'll be alright," She nuzzles his bicep; "I have faith."

Malik scoffs; "I don't know if faith is going to be enough… I-I saw him earlier, before they took him away… There are—there are bruises shaped like hands on him…They said they might have to take his leg if they can't get the infection under control."

Hadiya fell into the rhythm of breathing and gave his hand a squeeze.

It was quiet for a long while.

The elevator at the other end of the room made a soft ping noise and when Hadiya looked up she saw Ezio walking toward them. She hummed to get her husband's attention and motioned with her eyes to the young Italian approaching them.

Malik raised his brows but couldn't manage to speak.

"Altair's awake… He's asking for you."

Malik nodded and pushed to his feet, Hadiya following; "Come on, Gadil."

The boy shook his bowed head stubbornly.

"Gadil," Malik said in a low tone.

Ezio tucked his arms around his chest and nodded toward the elevator; "I'll stay with him, you go ahead."

"You don't have to," Hadiya said and looked pointedly at her son.

Gadil didn't move.

"It's OK, really," Ezio took up the seat beside him and slouched a little to try and get comfortable in an uncomfortable chair, tapping his thumbs on his thighs.

Hadiya let out a sigh, but pulled Malik away.

It was quiet for a long few minutes. Ezio tried to compare this hospital's waiting room with the last one he'd been in and found it just about the same aside from the floor plan. It was too quiet, too beige and the chairs were too uncomfortable.

Ezio slouched a little more, to get closer to Gadil's level and folded his hands on his chest; "You wanna know a secret?"

Gadil didn't answer, just continued to grip the legs of his pants and stare at his knees.

Ezio leaned a little closer; "I'm scared too."

Gadil didn't move; "You don't know anything."

Ezio worked his tongue around in his mouth while he picked his words. He didn't want to scare the boy, just wanted to show him that Desmond would be OK. It may take a long time and he may need lots of help, but eventually, he would find OK again. "Did your parents tell you what happened to him?"

Gadil shook his head; "I heard them talking on the phone… They just told us he got hurt really bad. They didn't say that he got raped."

Ezio nodded, "Do you know what that means?"

Gadil nodded.

Ezio hesitated, thinking the boy probably looked it up in the dictionary and was opening his mouth to ask when Gadil's fingers started working together uncomfortably and his voice changed, became strained and almost defensive.

"It means a bad man made him do things he didn't want to do."

Ezio nodded and had to swallow before he could speak again. "Yeah—"

"And it's not OK," Gadil's hands were twisting harder. "It's NOT OK to do that!"

Ezio felt his brows pull down and something wormed its way into the back of his mind, something sour and sickening and his skin crawled in revulsion. "No, no it's not OK for someone to do that. It's never OK for someone to do that."

Gadil's breath hitched in his chest and he held it tight, curling his fingers into his palms until his arms shook with the effort.

"Can I tell you another secret, Gadil?"

He turned finally and met Ezio's eyes. He nodded.

"Some bad men hurt me like that… For a long time," It hurt, an ache in his chest but Ezio breathed through it, "It still scares me to think about it, but it helps to talk to someone, because I was so scared before I couldn't. I was ashamed at myself for not making it stop, or finding someone who could make it stop… make the bad men stop."

"How… how did you make them stop?"

"I told someone and he got me away from them."

"Who did you tell?"

"Altair… He—he found me and he got me away from the bad men… And as soon as Desmond wakes up and can tell us who hurt him, we'll make them stop too."

Gadil looked away again, staring at his shoe laces; "What if you can't tell?"

"You can always tell—"

"No… what if you can't? W-what if bad men will take you away if you tell?"

Ezio felt that sick tingle in his mind branch out into all his limbs and every cell of him cried out in one instant. Oh, shit.

"Gadil… Gadil, has someone hurt you?"

His eyes were round and dark and wet and he looked up at Ezio with such fear and certainty that he'd done something wrong. "Please… please don't tell my dad."

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	92. Chapter 92

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**Chapter 92; Loss of Trust **

"Gadil… W-what does this person do?"

He shakes his head, eyes flowing freely now, shame written plainly across his face.

Ezio swallows and tries not to look at the boy beside him, effecting calmness and giving Gadil space to himself. He didn't know what to do, didn't know what to say or really anything at all. He just sits there and remembers those hands on him. Laughing and pulling at him, pinching and telling him just to do it, just touch, just open your mouth and it'll be all over soon. Just this once and it'll be over.

Ezio shivers and feels himself beginning to clam up, tears burning in his eyes, teeth grinding, fists clenching and that burn under his skin to run—RUN AWAY—eats at him. "Gadil?"

"Yeah?"

"You—you ever drink coffee?"

"Yeah… m-my dad lets me have some of his sometimes… it tastes funny without sugar in it."

Ezio nods, "You—you wanna go get some coffee with me?"

The boy nods, rubs his face on his sleeve and when Ezio stands he wraps his hand around the Italian's and they walk across the hall to the coffee room. It's light blue inside and the chairs are slightly more padded, pink now instead of green and gray.

Gadil sits at the table and snuffs wetly, hands working furiously in his lap like he's trying to break his fingers.

Ezio's hands shake and he pours some decaf in a foam cup, pours in a few packets of sugar and some cream then some cold water so it'll be cool enough for the boy to drink. He takes his own black and scalding hot because he needs the distraction of the bitterness and the heat of it. Half a sip in he has to turn back around and put sugar in it because the bitterness makes his stomach cramp and all he can think about is how bitter and salty and disgusting that strange man's dick had tasted when he'd forced it between his lips years and years ago… Christ on a stick. Ezio sets down and slides Gadil's cup over to him, pressing his hands between his knees to stop their shaking. It doesn't help, he's still shaking all over.

Gadil takes a sip of his drink and stares at Ezio for a long while. "What did… what did they do to you?"

Ezio makes a face, not sure if he's comfortable talking about the facts of his own rape with a six-year-old. His heart is beating hard in his chest and it's difficult to breathe.

"They… they-uh—" He swallows and his eyes dart around the room. No… He tells himself, he has to do this, he has to do this because it could help, it could convince Gadil to talk about it, it could convince the kid to tell his parents so he could get help!

Ezio clears his throat and rubs his sweaty palms on his knees; "They made me touch them… P-personally…" He feels sick, "Made me use my mouth on them and they touched me."

Gadil is twisting his cup on the table, eyes locked on it, just a little head and shoulders and hands on the table. He looks so lost, looks hollowed out inside. There is no nervousness when he speaks and Ezio knows from experience it's shock and acceptance of the abuse as the norm; "He makes me touch him… Under the desk. Sometimes he makes me stand there and look at him and touch myself… I don't like it… If I do it wrong he grabs me and holds me still till I do it right. I tell my mom I fell on the playground," He hesitates, "He comes after me at recess…" There are tears in his eyes now but he won't look at Ezio directly, is focused on his hands or across the room even as his face is turned in Ezio's direction. "He tells me this summer he'll teach me to use my mouth the way God intended."

Ezio covers his face and takes a moment to breathe, nods, breathes some more and takes a long drink of his coffee, the burn of it down his throat calming. "He won't do that… I won't let him… It happens at school—that's why you don't want to go anymore."

He nods quietly, biting into his lip. "Is he gonna hurt me like that bad man hurt Desmond?"

Ezio shook his head, "No… But you have to tell your parents what's happening. Tell them someone's hurting you, one of the adults from your school and I'll… I'll talk to them and get them to do something—Fuck, I don't know," He hides his face.

Gadil nods; "He says that sometimes, when I do it right… says 'Fuck'… what does that mean?"

Ezio takes a deep breath swallows and rubs his forehead; "It means different things… I-I said it as a curse word, you shouldn't say it."

Gadil's mouth compresses and he nods. "Okay."

Ezio takes a moment to breathe, "Will you tell your parents? Please? No matter what this person says, I won't let them hurt you anymore."

Gadil is still frightened, still so terribly afraid and humiliated and ashamed of how helpless he feels, "My dad will get angry at me."

Ezio shakes his head, "No he won't. This isn't something you can control, this is something awful a very bad person is doing to you and your dad won't be angry with you over it…"

"He yells at me cause I don't want to go to school… He makes me go."

Ezio wants to pull the kid into his arms but worries that may make the situation worse so he draws curlicues on the side of his cup with his thumbnail instead. "He does that because he doesn't know what's happening. If you tell him, if you help him understand…" He inhales and holds it, tries not to sob and lets it out in a slow hiss. "I was afraid my dad would be angry at me too, that he'd hate me because of what those men had done to me. He didn't and yours won't either."

"You promise?"

Ezio nods, "I promise… The only person he's gonna be angry at is the person who is hurting you… He'll be angry at himself for scaring you, but he will NOT be angry with you."

Gadil is crying, steady slow streaks of tears across his little face.

Ezio wonders if he looked like that when he was younger, looking at those strangers before they'd raped him, he wonders if any of them had ever felt a shred of compassion of regret or guilt over what they'd done.

Gadil looks down at his hands again and takes a drink of his coffee; "I started stealing Zafir's pull-ups cause I'm afraid I'm gonna pee the bed again."

Ezio nods, "Cause you're scared?"

He nods, "If he touches me he squeezes and it hurts to go to the bathroom after, so I hold it in… Sometimes I can't anymore."

Ezio wipes his eyes on his wrist and snuffs back a wet feeling in his nose; "Well, we'll make him stop… and I don't think your little brother minds," He tries to smile to put on a brave front but it trembles too much and he winds up looking down at the tabletop and grinding his teeth to still it.

Gadil snuffs pathetically and takes another drink, letting his eyes run freely.

It's quiet for a long few minutes and then Hadiya and Malik are in the doorway. Neither look exactly happy, but they're a little more relaxed now that Altair's awake.

"The police came to take his statement," Malik says then notices his son's tears and cocks his head to the side, "Gadil?"

He tilts his cup toward his mouth and Malik lifts an eyebrow at Ezio.

Ezio answers without looking at him; "Decaf."

Malik sighs and strokes a hand over his son's head. "Your mother wants to go home… Can I have a hug?"

Gadil nods and climbs to his feet, wrapping his arms around his father and tangling his fingers in Malik's shirt… He refuses to let go.

Ezio stands when Malik realizes Gadil isn't going to release him and puts a hand on the printer's shoulder, "Go home with them… You—You want to go home tonight, trust me… I'll stay here… You—You need to go home."

Malik looks startled and when he peers down and sees his son grinding his teeth and fighting back sobs he can't say no. He bends and scoops the boy to his chest, letting Gadil wrap his legs around his hip and knot his arms around his neck. He gives Ezio a strange look over his shoulder and a nod as he leaves.

Ezio watches them go then creeps to the bathroom and hides in a stall bent over his knees hyperventilating. He calls Marjory at home and tells her what's happened and spends the next hour talking to her on the phone, sitting there in that stall. A few men come in and out and a doctor pecks on the door and asks if he's OK. Ezio says he will be and has to bite back the 'now fuck off' he has on the tip of his tongue.

He doesn't want this to happen, doesn't want to sit here in a men's bathroom and cry like he is, but he can't help it. Part of him hadn't expected something like this to happen to someone he knew, especially not now. Didn't think it was possible.

He'd been shocked when he'd heard the news on Desmond's condition but it hadn't sunk in until now that it was the same thing, not until Gadil had looked up at him with that terrified look in his eyes and said 'Don't tell my dad'.

How was he supposed to handle this? How was he supposed to keep going, keep being optimistic when these sick bastards were hurting everyone he knew. When they were EVERYWHERE!

He closed his eyes tightly and pressed his phone between his hands, praying in a whisper, "Please… pleasepleasepleaseplease," He didn't even know what he was asking for, courage, a chance to undo this mess, a quick easy end to it all, to suddenly be eleven-years-old again and walking down the street beside Desmond laughing?

Something, whatever it was, it was not for his little brother to find him like that, hiding in a grungy hospital bathroom stall crying.

"Ezio?"

His eyes popped open and he could see Petruccio standing on the other side of the door, peering in through the crack at the hinges at him.

"Ezio, are you alright?"

He shook his head, couldn't find enough of his broken voice to chance it.

"Do… Should I call Dad or Federico to come get you?"

He shook his head again, "I just… just need a minute."

Petruccio is quiet, walks toward the sinks and stands there for a while waiting.

Ezio realizes the futility of hiding there any longer and pulls himself together as much as he can and leaves the stall. He rubs some water on his face and avoids his reflection, but can't avoid his brother.

Petruccio looks concerned, tired and so much older than he should. He doesn't say anything just nudges Ezio's shoulder with his own and looks at the floor.

Ezio bumps him back and speaks without verbal prompting. "I just had to convince a six-year-old that it's OK to tell his parents he's being sexually assaulted at school."

Petruccio gives his head a shake, he doesn't know what to say or how to offer comfort so he doesn't try, is afraid the words would sound cheap if he forced them.

"I don't know how to… And Desmond, he's… Jesus he was almost raped to death—Who, what kind of sick—SICK people are these guys?"

"I don't know," Petruccio takes a long breath and huffs it out at the ceiling; "The doctors are going to try and wake Eli's brother up, since his brain isn't swelling as badly as they thought it would… They want to see how—how bad it is."

Ezio nodded. "Is she alright?"

"She's scared to death… She puts on this face for everyone, like nothing affects her, like she's bullet proof or some shit. It's just an act though, because when she gets hurt—it doesn't happen often, but when it happens it's bad… This is bad and she won't let me in, won't let me help."

"All I can say is just be there for her when she's ready."

Petruccio looks at him, and gnaws viciously on his lip almost bringing blood; "I love her, Ezio… I don't want to see her hurting like this. I want to protect her from it. I'm supposed to protect her and I can't—"

Ezio is shaking his head; "You can't protect her from it, it's a natural part of life. All you can do, the ONLY thing you can do is be there for her and with her through it. Support her when she needs it and let her climb on your shoulders when she wants to…" He swallows and thinks hard for a heartbeat before he speaks; "Love isn't just the good things, it's the bad things and how you stick together through them."

Petruccio hefts a sigh and crosses his arms, then nods and shifts toward the door. "Thank you," He leaves Ezio standing there by the sinks and a few minutes later when Ezio walks out it's with a newfound determination. He asks the desk nurse for an update on Desmond and because he's still in Critical Condition leaves his cellphone number and a request to be notified if anything changes.

Altair is still there, letting a nurse rub ointment on his burned skin listening to her talk as she says she's not seen someone heal this quickly before and if his numbers look this good in the morning the doctor may agree to send him home.

Altair nods but doesn't say anything. When Ezio shuts the door as the nurse leaves he looks up but doesn't offer a smile.

Ezio climbs onto the bed and they lay there for a long time in silence, then Ezio goes out to the nurses' station and comes back a few minutes later with a pair of scissors.

Altair limps into the bathroom and Ezio wets his head with the shower sprayer, sits him down in the plastic visitor's chair he's dragged into the middle of the room and wraps a sheet snugly around his shoulders, snipping carefully at his hair until all the burned, brittle ends are gone.

It's short, shorter than Ezio really likes, but it'll grow back, he knows and in the meantime he can content himself with the fact that Altair is alive and not a charred corpse in the morgue.

He cleans up the mess and settles Altair back into the bed, running his fingers through the abbreviated mop until he's satisfied with how it looks.

Altair sleeps, Ezio dozes and when they wake up, nothing has really changed, so they keep waiting.

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	93. Chapter 93

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**Chapter 93; Fairy Dust**

It was the antibiotics that did it, he would forever swear that was what it had been. The antibiotics and antivirals they'd given him, that damned 'Cocktail' as they'd referred to it as, was notorious for causing upset in one's stomach and bowel…

Shaun woke with a sore throat, a headache to kill all headaches and an urge to both vomit and plant himself on the nearest toilet.

He made it to neither.

The nurses came in while he was still retching, cradling his head in both hands and fighting weakly with the tubes and wires in his arms. For the first few minutes he couldn't think, didn't know where he was or why, so he politely didn't think and instead just let everything happen.

It was while a nurse was peeling off that damned smock and trying to clean him up that they all realized he was awake and seemed to be lucid. Maybe it was the fact he tried to pull the flimsy thing back over his genitals or the fact that he'd croaked out; "Sorry, don't swing that way, Darling," or that he was even articulate at all considering the sheer size of the blood clot the doctors had drilled out of his head. Like searching for oil or something.

Shaun's default mode was sarcasm. It suited him well in most cases. When in bed lying in your own sick and filth because of a 'Rape Cocktail' of antibiotics and antivirals, it did not and for some reason he couldn't put his finger on at the moment he abruptly burst into tears.

Twenty minutes later he was cleaned up and squinting at the blurry form of his sister as she stood by the bed, gently stroking her hands over the bandages around his head, crying—CRYING!—over him and saying how sorry she was.

Shaun's hands shook and his throat hurt almost as badly as his head. He felt woozy and out of sorts in ways he couldn't identify presently. So, he remained as quiet as possible and moved as little as possible.

He remembered the events leading up to this… THIS, in flashes as Elisabeth talked, as she apologized and tried to talk to him but wound up just hiding her face in her hands and crying. Shaun wanted to cry as well but his head hurt too badly and when he cried anyway it made his throat hurt even worse.

When the sun rose a nurse came in and wheeled him out for a scan of some sort. He asked for his glasses. She said they'd been thrown away. Shaun called her an evil cunt and she stopped talking to him… in fact, most of the female nurses did. He wasn't sure if it pleased him or not.

The doctors came in as soon as he'd come back from the scan, two of them. They checked him over from head to foot, pulled this, prodded that, and asked him questions Shaun wanted to forget.

They said there was a policeman outside who wanted to take his statement, if that was OK.

Shaun said it was and pulled the blankets up to his chest, feeling oddly exposed and vulnerable after the doctor's examination. Part of him wanted to cover his face—borrow some of Elisabeth's makeup and blend away the bruises, the black and purple handprints around his neck and on his jaw and cover the cut across the bridge of his nose. Wanted to make himself forget what he'd seen, forget the SOUND of it, the vivid, nightmarish image of Desmond pinned to that desk and that—that monster bending over him. The TASTE and brutal wrongness of being forced to…

No, he was going to forget it… forget it.

The policeman pecked on the door and Shaun flinched. Head roaring as it turned too quickly on his neck, expecting someone other than the person standing there.

Chris had spoken of his partner before, although Desmond and Shaun had never met him. Bryan Knight was a shorter man, like Chris had been. He was thin and seemingly unobtrusive, new to Violent Crimes. Recently moved from street duty he still had an edge to him that was just a little too soft. Too fresh out of school. He had short dark blonde hair, green eyes and a vaguely frightened look in his eyes as he came into the room. "Mr. Hastings?"

Shaun gave a single nod at his blurry form, squinting as he came closer so the Brit's eyes could focus. He introduced himself and took a seat so they would be on the same level, his hand shook as he set his pen to paper, ready to note everything Shaun said.

He asked what Shaun had seen, what he'd heard. Any details he remembered.

Shaun told him, even though he didn't want to. There were bits of the evening missing, just scattered images. The smell of Desmond's burger, the rain getting in his boots—Dear fuck, his three-hundred-dollar designer boots— and up his trouser legs. He can't remember the gunshot, just that suddenly he had a hole in his flesh and that he'd probably been in shock. He remembers Desmond fighting vividly, but not how he'd received the wound on his head. Bit back a sob as he told how the bastard with the baseball bat had hit Desmond. The disgusting wet sound of breaking bone as it had made contact. Remembered holding the young PI to him on the car ride to the warehouse. Remembered the blonde—He remembered the blonde German man with the foul temper beating Mickey's head against the desk until his brain came out his ears.

Bryan took note of that because they hadn't found Mickey's body, only Shaun and Desmond and Altair had been pulled from the burning warehouse.

Bryan breathed and kindly asked him to calm down for a minute before they continued.

Shaun took a drink of water and wished it was scotch, wished it didn't hurt to swallow or press a fucking plastic cup to his mouth. He asked for a mirror, so he could see how badly that sick fuck had damaged him, that he rather liked his face, thank you and didn't want to have to acclimatize himself to a startling new arrangement of his features. Bryan smiled and found one for him.

He looked worse than he'd imagined and handed the mirror back, swallowed a little more water, wanted vodka and continued.

Shaun didn't mention Walker, didn't trust anyone in a uniform just yet, his hands shook when Bryan asked what he remembered from the warehouse. Asked who the man they called 'The Collector' was.

Shaun opened his mouth and found his words stolen by something amorphous and sour growing in his stomach. He couldn't remember… Remembered that Desmond had recognized the man but the details were gone.

"He… He was older, wore a suit and had a bag of some kind… Not a briefcase… He—he had scars, all up the back of his legs. I-I remember they were swirled, textured… And—and he had a ring—" His breath hitched and he motioned to his face. "It was on his right hand—I-I don't know if it means the same here as it does in England, but there, when you wear a band on your right hand, for men anyway— means your widowed. Does that mean the same here?"

Bryan shrugs a little; "It could, could also be something else, do you remember what kind of ring it was? Did it have any stones in it or engraving?"

Shaun shook his head; "It could have been a class ring, but I can't remember it clearly enough… Just the glint of it before he punched me… He—he kept calling me Peter Pan while he had me…" He shivers. "I don't know if it's because of how I speak or if he was meaning it derogatorily."

"Derogatorily?"

"Peter Pan, fairy boy, fag… I've heard them all, gets kind of amusing after a while, realizing how unoriginal people are when it comes to insults."

Bryan looks sympathetic, "Do you think this could have been a hate crime?"

Shaun doesn't know how to answer; "Against myself, possibly… Against Desmond, not likely… I think it was revenge… The German man, he talked about him as if he were merchandise, bought and paid for… I think it was the same men who kidnapped him when he was little."

Bryan nods, he's read up on the case himself. "You think these men have some connection to Borgia?"

"Oh, I can guarantee it. That fat man had his fingers in everyone's plate."

Bryan takes a deep breath and tries one more time, "Do you remember anything else about the man who attacked the two of you. Anything that may help?"

Shaun shook his head. "I can't remember what he looks like. Just what I've told you, everything else is… is just—" He curls his fingers and holds them up by the bandaging on his head. "It's just gone."

Bryan gives a nod and asks that Shaun read and sign the papers. Shaun snorts and says he can't even see straight with the concussion and his glasses gone missing. He has to hold the pages close to his face to read them, then signs his name to the bottom and hands them back.

When the policeman is gone Shaun sinks back a little more and tries to find a comfortable position. His leg hurts, his head and throat hurts… Everything hurts.

When the nurse comes back in she asks if he wants anything for the pain. Shaun says yes.

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Shaun makes Elisabeth and Petruccio help him into a wheelchair the next morning. He tucks his smock around his privates and pulls a blanket on over his lap and leg and he grips his IV pole and pretends he's a Lord Monarch of the thirteenth century being paraded around the halls of his castle. Elisabeth smiles a little, says he's being silly, he snorts and says; "Says you, you're not a man, you don't know how satisfying it to sometimes let your willy dangle in the wind."

Petruccio snorts a laugh and Shaun feels a little less choked and stared at if he's making jokes. If he's keeping people laughing they can't stop long enough to see the tears in his eyes aren't from humor.

The nurses let him see Desmond only because they look at how bruised and beaten up he is and feel sorry for him.

Elisabeth and Petruccio wait in the hallway while the nurse wheels him in and settles him beside the bed.

"I'll give you a few minutes, but then you need to go back to your own room."

He nods but he's not looking at her. This can't be right… This pathetic broken thing in the bed can't be Desmond.

His face is swollen and there's a breathing tube in his mouth. A heart monitor that beeps and moans every few minutes, IV tubes and bags of fluids and antibiotics and that same damned cocktail Shaun had been given.

There is gauze taped down the center of Desmond's person, from just below his breastbone all the way down to below the sheets. It curves around his navel and on the right side of his abdomen something is taped to his skin, a tube and a bag of some sort, adhered solidly to the skin.

His left hip and thigh are a mess of metal cages and long silver rods stabbing through bruised torn, stitched and cut skin. That thing… that monstrosity that reminds Shaun of something out of a horror movie is holding Desmond's bones together. He is covered in bruises and bloody bits of gauze and tubes that keep his body running for him.

Shaun's hand trembles as he lifts it and lays it carefully on the only un-bruised portion of skin he can find, a portion of forearm above the IV shunts, below a bore line that goes right into the artery of Desmond's arm.

Desmond's skin his hot, feverish and his eyes twitch beneath their lids, cracking open amidst the bruising and peering out at the world like a scared animal.

They look at one another and Shaun isn't sure if Desmond is actually seeing him or not because the young PI's eyes are full of anger and fear—Shaun pulls his hand back in shock and Desmond's eyes slide closed and don't open again to look at him.

The nurse comes back in a moment later and maneuvers Shaun out of the room. Elisabeth and Petruccio are waiting for him, they take him back to his own room and help him into bed and there is something dark and empty in Shaun's gaze.

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	94. Chapter 94

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**Chapter 94; Losing Ground**

Ezio carries Altair's bag. It's a small bag Claudia's purse is larger than this, as it only contains Altair's medication and the destroyed clothes he'd been wearing the night of the fire. He's going to throw them out as soon as Altair gets his things out of the pockets.

Malik has been in the room, but he hasn't used any bleach to clean it, Ezio thinks it's odd but doesn't look the gift horse in the mouth.

He shuts the door and locks it, pulls the blind down and closes the curtain, just leaving the bathroom light on because he knows darkness helps him relax and Altair needs to relax.

The PI nudges his shoes off and limps into the bathroom, staring at himself judgmentally in the mirror, ashamed.

His skin is still red, but it doesn't look as bad as it had, now just like a painful sunburn and he's surprised it doesn't hurt very much, just feels tight and dry. The only thing that really does hurt are his shoulder and his leg. The two limbs seem to take turns tormenting him. He carefully takes his arm out of the sling and pulls his t-shirt over his head from the back collar, then hesitates and picks at the medical tape peeling it up, staring at the wound with something like fascination on his face. He's never been shot before. Stabbed, yes, beaten up, more than once, shot? Never.

It wasn't as fun as TV made it out to be.

The wound was scabbed over and looked like a gigantic vampire bite surrounded by black and purple bruises. It hurt to turn his head or lift his arm, but the doctor assured him he should be fine, just rest and let it heal, to trust what his body told him. _"If it hurts, don't do it,"_ were the doctor's exact words.

Ezio came back into the room looking tired and caught him looking at it. "You're not gonna pick at it, are you? Because I'll duct tape your hands to your ass if you do."

Altair rolls his eyes; "No, I'm too scared it's gonna get infected or something… Like in that Harrison Ford movie with the Amish people?"

Ezio nods; "Yeah… So, don't, OK?"

Altair nods and presses the bandage back down. He gets his jeans halfway off and has to have Ezio help get them over the bandages on his leg and the Italian tips him into bed without preamble.

Altair's not tired, not in the slightest. He aches and is sore all over, but he's not tired. His mind keeps running, trying to find out what Desmond and Shaun had done with that file, where it had gone and what he could do to make this situation OK again, because there was fuck all he could do as it was and he couldn't stand it. Couldn't stand just lying here while Des and Shaun were in the hospital and he was out here trying to live with the fact that Desmond had been brutally raped and Shaun had been assaulted, the Brit refused to apply the word 'raped' to himself. He'd met Altair's eyes evenly, tearfully and said; _"He forced me to stimulate him orally, he didn't **rape** me."_

Altair didn't care how you spun it, it was still rape in his book, but he let Shaun have this, he wasn't going to force the word on the kid if he wasn't ready for it.

"Hey, Earth to Altair," Ezio was sitting beside him, head tilted to the side, waiting for Altair to come back to him, waiting for the pained glaze in the PI's eyes to fade; "You alright?"

He nodded, but he wasn't and he knew Ezio could tell.

"You need to try and sleep."

"I can't."

"You're still recovering—"

"I can't, Ezio, if I could, I would."

Ezio pursed his lips and was still for a ten count; "We could watch a movie or something."

Altair shook his head.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"Not particularly."

"Mind if I talk about it?"

Altair's breath came out slowly and his hand lowered to rest on Ezio's knee; "I don't mind…"

"It's not your fault."

He scoffed and pulled his hand back, folding it on his chest.

Ezio leaned over him; "It's not… Desmond could have said 'no'. You wouldn't have forced it on him if he'd said 'no'. I know you wouldn't have. You've both got this hero complex… it's kind of annoying, but I can't talk I have it too."

Altair couldn't look at him, had his teeth grit.

"He could have come to you at any time and said 'It's getting out of hand, I need help'."

"So you're saying it's Desmond's fault?"

"No… I'm saying it's nobody's fault entirely… Hell, if we're being honest, I could say it was my fault too—"

"What?"

"If I hadn't been so pushy in the first place and got you to give me a chance at this relationship—If I'd WAITED, you would have taken the case yourself."

"Ezio—"

"It's nobody's and everybody's fault all at once, Altair. Let me shoulder my share of the blame and stop trying to carry it all on your own. You're not Atlas!"

Altair looks up at him then, just stares up at him with his lip between his teeth and nervous energy glowing beneath his skin. He can't help it, doesn't know why he's so turned on at the moment considering that a second ago he'd been thinking about two young men he cared about being raped.

Perhaps it was that primal side of him that drove his brain to send his uninjured arm up, cupping Ezio by the back of the head and pulling him down. Maybe it was the masochistic side of himself that liked it when he felt just a razor's edge of pain mixed in with his pleasure and this heartache was so bitter sweet.

It was twisted and made him feel a little disgusted with himself but he couldn't stop it.

"Please," He said, "Please…"

Ezio pulls back for a moment and looks at him and he knows this isn't about punishment, isn't about blame or guilt, this is about Altair needing him, needing him close, needing him to say that it was OK, that everything would be OK even if it didn't look like it at that moment. He needs someone to take this away from him for a little bit because it's killing him.

Altair sinks his teeth into his bottom lip and bites hard, sinking back into the sensation of Ezio's hands on him. Pressure against his chest, feeling his heart beating, rolling the pad of his thumb over Altair's piercing, following it with his tongue because it's something he's wanted to do for a long time now and the way Altair arches up into it makes Ezio go from flaccid to hard in half a second.

Ezio, over the last few weeks has done research. Has sat downstairs in the shop during his shift when it's slow and Googled things on his phone like Claudia had shown him how to do. He'd discovered a great wealth of information concerning bondage and what Altair had called his 'subspace'. He thought, maybe, he might understand it now. A few chat rooms and anonymous questions had been a great help and Ezio swallowed nervously and pressed his palms flat on either side of Altair's head, catching his lower lip between his teeth and pinching, just a little. He drew back and took a breath to steady himself; "Altair?"

He lifted his left hand and carded it through Ezio's hair, eyes still distant, still no response from below. "Yeah?"

"Give me this…"

Altair blinked, brows drawing down; "Hmm? Give you what?"

Ezio leaned forward again and the words came out in a growl into the short hair around Altair's ear; "Give me control of this. Let me have you… I won't let you break."

Altair shivered and the certainty that he wasn't going to be able to perform faded because he could feel himself growing hard, simply from those words. "Ezio?"

"Shhhh," He nuzzled into the space below Altair's ear and there were just a few little sharp hairs on his chin that nuzzled in as well; "Let me take care of you."

Oh, shit… Altair couldn't swallow the lump in his throat, couldn't breathe around it.

"What's your safe word?"

He stuttered, blushed and said it again firmly; "Gethsemane."

Ezio smirked; "And when will you use it?"

"Whenever I need to—" Altair's breath hitched and his whole body was trembling; "Christ, Ezio, you don't know how fucking—"

"Quiet."

His teeth clamped together and he was nothing but a quivering ball of energy.

Ezio kissed gently over the gauze on his shoulder, paused to capture that barbell between his teeth and pull just a little, just enough that Altair whined and the sound of it went straight to his cock, and he kissed each crest of muscle down the PI's abdomen and paused there, low, staring at the still red line of scar tissue slanting along the curve of his stomach. Each little pink dot where a suture had held him together—Ezio bowed over it, felt it against his cheek then followed the length of it with the flat of his tongue.

The noise Altair made was extraordinary, a breath pulled in sharp between his teeth and out again on a groan, his hips rolling upward in confusion.

Oh, yes… Ezio liked this. "Don't move… Just breathe."

Altair slowly relaxed until he was limp, almost boneless against the blanket but for the obscene lump in the front of his underwear. He was pliant and when Ezio kissed down his hip and the outside of his uninjured leg, then up the inside again Altair felt himself wracked with fine tremors because he could feel the heat of Ezio's breath against his groin could feel the nudge of his nose and chin as the Italian breathed in and pinched with his teeth, a sharp silver sting and Altair arched into it with a whine, falling limp again half a second later.

"I said 'don't move'…"

Altair swallowed, willing himself not to drool mindlessly and muttered an apology feeling a hot sting of regret in his chest.

"I'm sorry, sir… I'm—"

"My name is Ezio."

"Ezio—Ezio, I'm sorry."

He sat up and pressed the flat of his hand into Altair's belly, pressing down and rubbing carefully while he thought, stroking up and down the length of Altair's torso, then back and forth across the width of it. He could do this… It would be OK, he could do this, wanted to do this—OH GOD—he wanted to do this even if the scale between Nervous and Excited couldn't stay balanced.

"Altair, you're going to get up, and you're going to go into the bathroom, and you're going to get one of those boxes you—"

Altair let out a high whine and his cock jumped, Ezio didn't think he'd ever seen anything like it and Excitement went up a few notches.

"I want you clean, inside and out… And if you touch yourself," He splayed his hand wide over Altair's crotch and RUBBED; "I'll take the riding crop you've got hanging with your ties, to that round little ass of yours."

Altair whined again; "Now I don't know if I wanna listen to you or touch myself just so you'll stripe me."

Ezio snorted and rubbed roughly again with the heel of his hand; "If you're a good boy, I'll stripe you like a candy cane in the morning… If you don't listen you'll be so red you won't be able to sit."

He didn't particularly want to cause Altair pain, but the control of this, the noises Altair was making, how much he obviously wanted to remember that Ezio was there and going to take care of him in the sting against his backside as he sat at his desk… Maybe…

Altair inched up off the bed, his right arm curled to his chest, limping slightly and balancing himself against the wall he disappeared into the bathroom.

Ezio sat there with his hands to his face while he waited, trying to press the hot blush out of his skin, trying to convince himself that this was OK, that he was not going to chicken out and fall to impotence like he had every other time he'd been on the traditional top side of things. This was nothing to be nervous about, nothing to worry about. He was helping Altair, Altair needed someone to take control of the situation and let him just feel helpless for a few minutes, let him sink down until nothing else existed and he had his moment of feeling safe, of everything feeling right with the world so when he came back he could better handle what had happened instead of repeating the panic and the minor breakdown he'd had before.

Altair's shower switched on and Ezio's eyebrow crooked up. He climbed to his feet and went to the door, knocking; "Altair, you're not supposed to get your bandages wet and if the clot breaks loose from your shoulder you'll have to go back to the hospital… And I won't be happy about that."

"Shit…" Altair sounded disappointed and gave a snort of embarrassment. "Well… uh—Okay, give me a minute."

"What are you doing?"

"What do you think?"

"In the shower?" His nose wrinkled up.

"No… But I—I just…"

Ezio giggled; "Tryin' to make yourself pretty?"

"I just got out of the hospital, I smell like antiseptic. And you said inside and out, so I need a shower."

Ezio snorted; "You don't smell bad… just—just like a guy."

"I'd rather not smell like sweaty balls, thank you…"

"Hurry up then but DO NOT get your bandages wet… And get back in scene or I'll make you wear that cock ring you showed me a while back!"

Altair made a half strangled 'guh' sound in his throat and the shower turned off.

Ezio rubbed the flush from his cheeks and turned back to the bed, searching for the black zipping toiletry case he'd hidden under there to separate his… socks, from Altair's. He found his case nearly shoved behind the bookshelf and pulled it out, knocking some dust from the top as he yanked the zipper. He'd only taken the blue Slimline Altair had bought for him and a few other unopened 'goodies' as the PI had called them and with a deep breath for courage he removed what he would need and pulled off his shirt and jeans, sticking the packets into the waistband of his trunks where he wouldn't lose them. He pulled the blankets back off the bed carefully, rolled them down to the foot and went to the laundry basket Malik had left sitting in the corner, took the top most towels off the stack and spread them out, feeling strange and foolish as he did. He wondered how he should sit to make himself most appealing to the PI. Should he lounge? Kneel? What should he do?

Altair cleared his throat behind him and Ezio turned, fingers still twisted together nervously.

Altair was standing there with a towel wrapped around his waist, still very much aroused, his face pink from more than the leftover burns.

Ezio took a deep breath and tried to slide back into It… Tried again and had to turn away and scrub his face for a minute; "Gimmie a second."

Altair tilted his head and watched, this was probably the most nontraditional scene he'd ever participated in. Most of the doms and dommes he'd encountered were naught but cool confidence and blistering gazes… Ezio was—was _Ezio_ and it meant so much more. This, the fact that he was trying it, was fully and completely taking control of this meant something different, something MORE and Altair felt more relaxed really, less fixated on his safe word and the razor's edge where he may have to use it, more enveloped by what Ezio was doing and saying and the knowledge that Ezio wouldn't take it too far, wouldn't strike him until there wasn't any pleasure left in the action. Ezio wouldn't mock violation, he would take him there slowly and safely and carefully and Altair would be able to relax and TRUST who had control of him.

He swallows a lump in his throat and watches as Ezio re-centers himself.

"I didn't touch myself… Did I—did I do good?"

Ezio turns slowly, still not 'There' yet and looks him up and down, eyes lingering on the front of the towel. He shoves a hank of his hair out of his face and steps forward, presses in close so he can smell Altair's skin, brush his lips and nose against his bandages to make sure they're not damp. He crouches and touches gentle fingers to the gauze on the older man's calf, it's all dry, and quite without warning he's 'There' and he pushes his face into the apex of Altair's thighs and pulls at the towel with his teeth until it falls free and he sees a little purple pink crescent in the crease of Altair's abdomen where he'd pinched earlier with his teeth, thinks it's probably the sexiest thing he's ever seen and mouths at it again. "Yeah… You did good."

Altair's head tilts down on his neck and his eyes slide closed, following Ezio's movement as the Italian climbs to his feet again and leads him to the bed. "Knees…"

Altair shivers and inches over onto his knees, watching through cracked lids as Ezio stacks up some of the pillows in front of him to support his chest and injured shoulder and presses the PI down over them.

"What's your safe word?"

Altair smiles and whispers it, relishing in the grate of terrycloth against his knees. It stings, but it won't harm him and he likes it, rubs his knees against it a little in anticipation. His heart is hammering and he can't help but imagine what Ezio must be doing, what he must be seeing and feeling. He wants this to feel good for Ezio wants to return how nice it feels to himself, how his chest aches with love because Ezio is doing this, Ezio who not so very long ago had been huddled against a dumpster in Morocco because he was afraid Altair would touch him.

"God… Ezio…" He wants to say it, wants to say how much he appreciates this, how good it feels, but Ezio just hums and kisses the small of his back.

"Hush… Just breathe."

He can hear a foil packet being torn open and nearly sinks his teeth into the pillow because holy SHIT this is going to happen. Ezio's going to touch him—Ezio's going to take care of everything and it's beautiful—All that long lean muscle arched over his back, Ezio's prick, slick and moving in him—Oh, god, it's already better than he imagined, better because it's not tainted with imaginings from previous partners, this is purely and simply Ezio and he's impatient, wants to hear the younger man groan as he sinks home, wants to feel the burn and stretch of everything EZIO deep within him, held tight and safe, wants it so much so, so much.

Altair can smell the lube, cherry flavored and he can't help but snort out a quick laugh and try to hold still, but then—CHRIST—Ezio's palm pops across his right cheek and the quick, hot sting of it jolts through him, his eyes close and his brows lift, lips parting and he feels his back bow because it was such a shock, such a pleasant surprise.

"I don't see anything funny… Stop squirming or I'll leave a handprint on your other cheek."

He can still feel it tingling, the skin slowly reddening and swelling just a little—Jesus he wants a picture of that, Ezio's handprint on his ass—Fuck, he'd hang it on the wall!

Ezio's palm presses into it, smooths over the skin, scratches it with his short blunt nails and Altair can feel it, it burns just a little sharper under the weight of his hand and Altair can't help but whine and pull at his nipple ring just a little in response to it.

"Are you gonna behave?"

Altair nods mutely, afraid he's drooling but he doesn't care, doesn't care about anything but how good this feels how good Ezio feels, how his voice cuts through the fog in his head and holds him just on this side of clarity.

"Altair, are you gonna behave?"

"Yes, Ezio… I-I'll behave."

"You know," Ezio says softly, warming the gel in his hand; "I had a guy do this to me once, he didn't do anything else, which I thought was weird at the time, just this… It's not something I'm proud of, the circumstances I mean, but it felt good, what do you think?"

Altair felt the lube, warm and wet dripping, Ezio's fingers painting it carefully over his opening and the next second he feels the Italian shift forward and his mind explodes.

His abdominal muscles contract and he pulls forward away from the contact at first, aware only that this is something he's seen in movies, something he'd read about on the internet but not something he'd ever asked any of his partners to do because he's not sure it's exactly sanitary. His mind flashes lightning quick, latches onto all the pieces of the puzzle.

The condom snug at Ezio's waistband on the right, the red package above his left hip, that bubble of cherry lube in the middle… What were the red packets again? He'd never used one before.

"FUCK!"

Ezio lifts back for a second, hands still in place; "Relax… Altair, listen to me, relax. Don't move."

"W-what—whatt'eryoudoin!"

"Oral dam, calm down… I'm not that stupid."

Altair keens, feels his toes curl into the soles of his feet and sweat stand out on his brow and the back of his shoulders. "Oh—Oh, Gah-_ah—" _

Ezio's mouth is on him. The tip of his tongue separated only by that thin little flag of rubber stretched between his fingers, holding him open—He can feel teeth and—and— His face screws up and he's holding his breath, groping beneath himself to squeeze, trying to open his mouth and ask Ezio to stop because it—it feels too good—_Oh Jesus_! He moves, even though Ezio told him to hold still, he can't help himself, can't be blamed—The very thought that EZIO is doing this to him breaks something loose in his head, all he can do is shiver, mouth open and panting into the pillow, hips and legs making little unconscious jerking movements every time the pressure increases.

Altair wonders, briefly, if this is what it feels like for a woman, and the next second he's squeezing himself harder, trying trying to hold still like Ezio told him to and all his nerves are firing, he can't take it, calls out; "Ezio…" And everything goes gray for a time, nothing else exists.

Altair isn't sure how it works, but sometimes… sometimes it was like a reset button, if he actually managed to make it to subspace, if his partner was that good and wasn't just into the Scene to smack someone around it reset everything back to _'Feelin' good Feelin FINE'_ if it was just someone with a sadism fetish who wanted to cause pain occassionally Altair could managed it, others he couldn't and it was just annoying sex that left him feeling sated but unfulfilled. That was the reason he hadn't been with someone in years. He had a feeling though, looking at Ezio, that with practice, the younger man would be able to do it because it wasn't solely about causing pain, Ezio didn't like the idea of causing him pain, it was about control and in Altair's experience the people who took to D/s with the mindset of control and release instead of strictly pain equals pleasure, were better at it.

He's face down on the bed half way still propped onto his knees when he comes back to himself and Ezio is sitting on his heels, giggling, working his jaw as if to re-hinge it. He smiles and flips that sheet of red rubber into the trash-can, chuckling and stroking his fingers over the PI's sides soothingly. "You weren't kidding when you said you were sensitive…"

"Wha'appnd?" He feels warm but can't stop shivering, there are silver specks dancing in the edges of his vision.

"I just proved that I'm a fucking sex god… I got you off in like fifteen seconds!"

He's both astounded and humiliated by the prospect of being popped off in fifteen seconds by a young man who's never successfully topped before so he bonelessly works a hand beneath his hips to see the evidence for himself. He snorts and rubs his face on the pillow, trying to clear his head, breathes and says; "Did not… Was—wasn't that."

"Oh, no? That sure as hell looked like an orgasm to me."

"No… Sensory overload… Ha-happened first time I used a vibrator," He inhales deeply and lets it out, "I was eighteen, won it at a sorority party… put it in, turned it on and I couldn't move, everything locked up… Like one hard, solid orgasm for 'bout twenty minutes… I couldn't walk for two days, thought I'd had a seizure."

"Ever thought you might have an enlarged prostate or something?"

Altair grins stupidly, eyes still closed; "Somethin' like that," He hums and finally pries his eyes open, staring back over his shoulder at Ezio before he carefully rolls onto his back, displaying the evidence, "See?"

Ezio saw alright, he pets his hands up and down the inside of Altair's thighs, hooking his thumbs under the older man's testicles and lifting them, letting them drop back again before shifting up over his stomach and catching the flared head of his arousal, pressing up against it with both thumbs and rubbing in conflicting circles. He's swollen and he looks like he's bypassed blueballs completely and gone right into purple. The PI makes a soft wanting sound in the back of his throat and Ezio can't resist, can't deny what he craves a moment longer; "Altair?"

He breathes a few times before he can answer; "Yeah?"

"I want you… No scene, no games, no toys…" His fingers dip down and rub through the slick still present and shining around his hole, "I—I just want you."

Altair swallowed past the dryness of his throat and reached up with his scarred hand, pushing Ezio's hair back and meeting his eyes, he wasn't calm, he was too afraid of what tomorrow would bring, but he was at ease here and now, could put aside what he couldn't control, could step back from regrets and guilt and focus not on what had happened, or what might happen and just BE for now.

He breathed and stroked fingertips over Ezio's jaw, leaned in slowly and captured Ezio's lips with his own, "I love you… Ezio, I—I love you so much."

He says it back in a whisper and bows his brow into the PI's chest; "I don't know if I can do this or not… I—I don't want to disappoint you."

Altair took a deep breath and met his gaze, "You won't. Not possible… Just—just think about what you've wanted to do to me and do it… If I don't like it I'll let you know, promise."

"I don't want this to be a scene—"

"It's not… This is communication," He chuckles, "This is the two of us, you know… communicating."

"Communicating," He echoes and takes a breath.

Altair tilts his chin up and steals another kiss, humming and brushing his cheek against the younger man's; "You know how long I've wanted this? I don't care if neither of us come, I just want to feel you inside me… Just feel it and know it's you. That's all I want, Ezio. All I want is you."

Ezio feels a burn in his throat and nods. Shivers run up and down his back and finds the half empty little bubble he'd had earlier, sticks it in the waistband of his trunks so he knows where it is and watches as his forefinger presses into Altair's body. It's delicious, the squeeze and heat and slick, perfect softness inside. He wants to know what that would feel like around him, so snug and soft and all of it ALTAIR. He throbs thinking about it and has to push it away or risk shaking all over with nerves.

Altair draws him down for another kiss then rests back on the pillows and lets Ezio enjoy it, closes his eyes and smiles into the crook of his left arm as the younger man sets to work.

What does he want to do to Altair? What kinds of gorgeous noises can he draw out of him? He'd made some pretty interesting ones already, maybe he could…

Ezio drags his finger out again, adds a few more drops and rolls it over two, rubs and presses until Altair gives and they start inward. He wonders if this is what Altair sees when their positions are reversed and can't help but lean forward and latch onto that purple crescent he's left in the crease of Altair's hip, worrying at it again with his teeth until it's twice the size it was and he can feel it with his tongue when he traces over it.

Altair's breath hitches and he squeezes at Ezio's fingers when they press in and up, the muscles in his abdomen trembling.

Altair realizes quickly that Ezio's attention seems to flow, always coming back to that mark on his hip and flitting to the head of his dick, slow, long licks and a scrape of teeth up the underside of him, teeth and tongue over the scar on his right side, free hand coming up to fondle his piercing, pull and pinch and twist or just lace their fingers together and hold on. It's a slow build and it's driving Altair crazy but it's worth it, it's so worth it because Ezio's there, Ezio's still tenting his underwear obscenely and even if they have to separate and finish just with slick between their bellies Altair wants—just once—to watch Ezio's face when he sinks in, wants to try because he likes to be optimistic when it comes to Ezio and can't keep himself from imagining the Italian pushing in and in and in to him. He's never wanted it this badly and it scares him a little but he won't—can't deny himself when Ezio is willing to try, when he seems so excited about it.

Ezio wants to hear Altair's voice lost and inarticulate in pleasure. Wants to see how good Altair feels reflected in his eyes and the way his his brows pull up in the middle. How his lips part and he just looks so innocent, so serene.

He wants to give Altair everything all at once. He rolls the pads of his fingers up against the PI's prostate, imagines the noises Altair had made when he'd had his mouth on him. How weeks ago he'd hummed and felt too good to do anything but press his face into Ezio's thigh and whine while that vibrator had been in him.

Ezio wants it all, wants to make Altair come so hard he sees stars. He licks his way up Altair's shaft and takes his head between his lips.

"You—you're gonna make me come doin' that," Altair says weakly, rolling his hips gently, unconsciously. His eyes are heavily lidded and the fingers of his right hand are flexing open and closed where they're resting on his chest.

Ezio meets his eyes and nudges the tip of his ring finger against the PI's opening, stretching wide enough to fit it in before he starts those slow sweeping motions back and forth, stretching and nudging deeper with a twist of his wrist. He can see Altair's pupils expand and contract with the motion, head digging back into the pillow, turning away with his brows up because if he keeps watching he's going to blow.

Ezio grins and pulls his mouth off; "Did you like it? Earlier?"

Altair's body gives a shiver and he whines.

"I wish I could have seen your face… I'll have to do it again sometime."

Altair's right eye cracks open and looks down at him, his pupil is wide and black and twitching slightly with need; "You—you better hurry up and get that condom on or I'll have to show you a thing or two about riding you may never forget."

Ezio grins, mouth hovering over the mark on Altair's hip and his heart may jolt nervously, but adrenaline shoots into his veins and he presses up sharply against Altair's prostate as he pulls the condom packet from his waistband and holds the corner between his teeth.

Altair's eyes open and watch him, the muscles of his inner thighs twitching as the Italian pulls free, watching as Ezio works a little more lube into him, can feel it, cooler than his body temperature, can feel his muscles contracting and he wants to tell Ezio to hurry—Jesus, please hurry. His hands are shaking and he wants to just grab Ezio and pull him in, but he can't, he can't because Ezio's rocking back onto his knees, packet still between his teeth, thumb hooked in his underpants elastic, pulling it down just enough that Altair can see the shape of him pressing urgently against it.

Ezio grins and his eyes are dark, he wants to say something sexy, something lusty and something that may make Altair simply cream himself now, instead he says; "I'm nervous as hell you know."

Altair looks up at him and smiles, rubs sleepily at his eyes and says; "It's okay though… No pressure."

Ezio takes a deep breath catches the side of the packet with forefinger and thumb and pulls. He almost drops the thing, and has to push his underwear off one handed, they bunch around his knees and get stuck on his right ankle and no matter how he shakes it he can't get them off so he gives up and shakes his head, knees parted on either side of Altair's behind while he rolls the condom on and uses the last of the lube on himself. "No pressure," He repeats to himself, a few strokes because he's afraid he'll deflate and ruin the moment. He takes a second to just look at himself resting against Altair's entrance, glances up at his face and repeats it again; "No pressure."

Altair tilts his head in the other direction eyes still locked on him, watching, fond and so in love he really, honestly wouldn't feel bad about this experience if Ezio couldn't continue. This isn't really about sex, it's about the two of them together and trying to chase away the hurts and fears of the past week by having a few moments of vulnerability all safe and sound in their room in their bed where theoretically no one can bother them.

Ezio catches Altair's unbandaged leg and hitches it up onto his shoulder, breathes in and out, feels Altair follow suit and guides himself slowly inward.

It feels different from the start, good different, a tightness at Altair's opening that gives way to almost billowy softness and he watches it, feels his balls draw up tight because holy shit he's actually doing this and there's a tight hot feeling low in his stomach, catching his breath, he pauses, halfway in and rocks back a little, easing the pressure of his entry because Altair's brows are knitted and his expression is just a hair too far over uncomfortable.

"OK?" Ezio feels himself speak, has to scratch his lips with his teeth because they're tingling.

Altair nods and breathes for a few seconds, in and out, nods and Ezio cants his hips a little farther in, watching himself disappear.

Altair hums and he still looks vaguely uncomfortable but there's a flush on his cheeks and he's got his hand down there, touching—touching where he's stretched around Ezio's girth. "Oh, God, that's nice…" He hums and catches his lower lip between his teeth, eyes still heavily lidded, peering up at Ezio through his lashes. He continues to touch, to feel and rub and Ezio can't really tell what he's doing at first, can't tell if he's actually hurting Altair and he's trying to ease it without alerting him, or what. It's nerve wracking. Is it OK? What's happening?

"Altair?" His heart is starting to race and his vision tunnel, "W-what are you doin?"

He swipes his tongue at the corner of his mouth and his breath shudders out, "You're in me, Ezio… You—you're actually in me."

He shivers, can hear a whine in Altair's voice. "Am I okay? Is—is it… What's it… how does it feel?"

Altair makes a noise in his throat, "Deep… full… You—you really have no idea."

"You—you're scarin me a little… are you OK?"

He nods, "Just feels good," His right arm shakes a little as it lifts and cards deep into Ezio's hair and he meets the younger man's eyes, "C'mere," He tugs gently and guides Ezio down until he can hook his legs high around his waist and Ezio is braced on his elbows, shivering slightly. "What're you scared of?"

"That I'm hurting you."

Altair laughs quietly; "You're not hurtin' me."

"I-I just know it' burns and I don't—"

He turns his head and kisses the inside of Ezio's right elbow, "Ezio, just feel it, OK? Don't think…"

Ezio blinks, startled and nods, bows his head into Altair's shoulder and chases all the negative thoughts as far back as he can, focusing on the squeeze of Altair's body around him, the gentle rock of the PI's fingers around his base, the stroke of knuckles upward to his navel and down again.

_He's petting me…_ A shiver runs through him and Ezio shifts experimentally, rocks back and forward again. Altair's mouth opens and closes with his breath against the inside of his arm. It's distracting and it feels good. He tries again, gets some leverage with his knees and Altair's hand curls in his hair. Those fingers are still stroking him, up and down his belly between his navel and his erection, it tingles, a sharp almost burn and he lowers a hand to it, experimentally touches where he's embedded in Altair and it's like an electric charge, being aware of filling this negative space, this void… He gets it like a knock on his head and bows into Altair's shoulder with a choked laugh.

"You OK now?" Altair says it in a whisper.

Ezio lifts his head and kisses him, long and deep. He practically growls against Altair's lips; "I love you—God, Altair, I love you so much," and the PI tilts his chin up into it. Pulling with the fingers in Ezio's hair like an anchor.

Ezio breathes and rocks his hips carefully, waiting for Altair's to respond like striking up the band or something equally cliché. He's not sure how it feels, knowing this is more than sex, he's known it from his side of things, known it while Altair was inside him and he had control, it's different to know it from this side of things, he has control still and Altair's OK with it. Altair likes it, he trusts Ezio because it's OK and it's not forcing Altair if Ezio has control and is also actively doing the penetrating. It's OK because there is consent between the two of them and Altair will let him know if something is wrong and Ezio will stop because that's how it works, that's how they work.

It's new, feeling mentally and physically aroused while in this position, the fear still nags at the back of his mind but he can trust Altair and that overrides the fear of it.

Ezio gets a hand between them, it's difficult at first because he has to shift his weight a little and maintain his balance, but Altair's still busy down there, touching where they're joined, humming and calling out Ezio's name as his fingers get caught between the press of their bodies, freed long enough to slide up and scratch gently with blunt nails at Ezio's stomach before they dip down again, fascinated, enthralled. Ezio wraps his hand carefully around the swollen crown of Altair's sex and gives a twist of his palm, slides down and up again.

Altair's head is tilted back, their mouths brushing too busy gasping in air and calling out to kiss.

Altair feels helpless and it's not frightening, he welcomes it because somehow this is different. He feels overwhelmed by the very real sensation of Ezio so close to him, not just physically, but as if they're thinking the same thing. Ezio KNOWS, he UNDERSTANDS, shares the intimacy of this with the look in his eye and the soft breathless presses of his lips.

His breath hitches and he can feel his toes curling into the soles of his feet, legs drawing up and it starts somewhere around his knees and his heels, pulling his muscles tight—"Ezio!"

Ezio lifts his head, lifts up onto his elbow and halfway to his knees, he knows that sound, Altair had made that sound just before he came last time, when Ezio had tilted that slimline mercilessly forward. That gutwrenching sound so like pain but in a whole different color. Rapture, Ezio thinks the word is, or something else pale like that when compared to what he felt when Altair made it.

Ezio tilts his hips upward and holds his breath, a few quick shallow pushes and Altair's eyes roll up, his breath catches in his throat and comes out again with that sound, that sound that grabs something in Ezio's chest and squeezes.

Altair's body spasms three times around him before wetness burst in Ezio's hand and the PI is tense, shivering. Whining and pulling Ezio down and to him as if he wishes to merge them body and soul.

Ezio feels his mouth open and his head drops forward on a low, urgent groan, moving quickly along with it. He can feel Altair relaxing, letting his legs go limp, hand on the back of his head, listening, just feeling it.

Ezio holds out for four, five more thrusts and can't anymore, holds still, muscles quivering and dies a little with a shuddering call to god. When he comes back to himself Altair's playing with his hair, smiling tiredly and their bodies are separate… There's a mess on the sheets and Ezio's not used to this and thinks he's lost the condom somewhere. He lifts his head, vision swimming and gropes for it with numb fingers, mumbles his embarrassment when he can't find it and hides his face in Altair's shoulder.

Altair just smiles and says it's OK.

Altair cleans himself up and they take a bath, Altair's left leg draped over the side of the tub so the bandages don't get wet, the water low around their waists so his shoulder stays dry. They're quiet and solemn considering what they've done and their usual reaction to it.

Ezio has his legs jackknifed, Altair settled between them, just touching stroking up the insides of his thighs and around his genitals but they're both too tired and worn thin for a second round. He brings up the possibility of going to see his father tomorrow before heading to the hospital to check on Desmond and Shaun.

Altair kisses the inner crease of his elbow and agrees.

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Altair wakes up hungry. Ezio is sprawled on the bare mattress naked, Altair is tempted to lean over and leave a pink crescent of teeth on the Italian's posterior but thinks better of it when he tries to sit up and everything aches.

It's been a long time since he's been on the receiving end of sex and the ache is delicious, he's missed it. Not something he could do every day or even every week, especially after the fiasco with his appendix, but it's nice in its own way, fulfilling. He limps to his drawer and pulls on a pair of underwear and some clean socks then takes down a new jacket from his closet. He can't look at the white ones without seeing Desmond's soaked in blood and he shoves his remaining two to the end of the rack and takes out a black one, it's got gray stitching and the lining of the hood is red. He doesn't think he's worn it before, one of those internet purchases he has trouble keeping track of. It's thicker than his usual jackets but he puts it on anyway, wincing as he threads his right arm through the sleeve and zips it halfway. He hides in the hood and limps over to the bed, dragging a blanket up over Ezio's nakedness just in case someone comes down before he returns.

It takes him a little more effort than he would like to admit to get down the hall and across the 'lobby'. His leg aches and his ass is sore and he looks up at the steps like they're Everest.

He starts at the bottom and works his way up step by step, leaning on the rail until he's made it to the top and is working his way toward the fridge. He thinks it might be worth it to put a small kitchenette in his workout room. Put another door in through his bedroom wall, just make a full-fledged apartment down there instead of just his bedroom and office. It would make times like these when he doesn't want to have clothes on and doesn't want to climb stairs to get some food a nonissue.

There is a plate in the bottom shelf with cling wrap on it and his name in sharpie. He takes it out and digs in cold, standing there beside the microwave because sitting down will be just a little too uncomfortable at the moment and he's too impatient to wait for the microwave to heat it up.

The floor above him creaks and Altair goes still, listening. Footsteps, too heavy to be one of the kids, not offbeat because of a swollen pregnant belly, so it must be Malik. Altair turns back to his food.

Malik pauses for a moment, checking in on what sounds like the Boys' room, then begins to descend the stairs.

Altair listens, looks up and thinks he'd probably be better off not trying to scare Malik by hiding in the pantry and jumping out at him, he doesn't want a punch to the face, thank you. Not really in the mood. But Malik doesn't come into the kitchen. A door opens and closes and that's it.

Altair eats a little more and the uneasiness eats at him. He sighs licks his fork clean and puts it in the sink, then covers his plate, puts it back in the fridge and takes a bottle of water, twists off the cap and chugs it.

He pauses outside the door to Malik's 'Upstairs Office', it's more like a Man Cave than anything. He has rugs and a stereo in here, also a bed in the corner in case someone comes to visit. Malik likes to sneak in here sometimes and take a nap while Zafir watches Star Trek reruns and learns to speak Klingon.

Altair raps his knuckles against the door, "Mal?"

He doesn't get an answer and something itches in the back of Altair's mind. What is Malik still doing home? Wasn't he staying to watch over Desmond? Who was at the hospital now with him?

"Malik?" He pushes open the door and looks around, looks right over Malik at first because the man is standing so still, almost as if he were a feature of the room, one of the plants or simply not there at all.

He looks so hollow standing there, eyes distant and cast over the city outside his window. There is a sheen of wetness in his eyes and he doesn't respond when Altair calls his name a second time. Doesn't even seem to register the PI's presence in the room until Altair is beside him, brows drawn down, pressing his left hand against Malik's bicep to gain his attention.

"Mal?"

He inhales and it shakes his chest, eyes and head turning with his brows pulled up questioningly. "Yes."

"Malik, are you OK?"

His mouth opens, closes and he looks away. "I have a job for you."

Altair breathes and his shoulders relax; "Oh… Uh—Okay, yeah, come down tomorrow and I'll—"

"Someone's been abusing my son, Altair."

Altair's breath catches and he almost chokes, gripping Malik's arm a little tighter; "What? When?"

He blinks, almost as if he's moving three seconds slower than he should be, delayed, like a computer trying to freeze. When he speaks again it's careful, calm like he's trying to understand it himself and his eyes are overflowing. "Someone at the school is sexually abusing my son."

Altair wants to vomit.

"He won't tell us who, just starts crying and curls up into a ball… Someone has been hurting him every day for months—" He has to swallow and inhale sharply before he can continue. His hand is shaking. And when he speaks his voice is strained, nonexistent; "—And I've been forcing him to go anyway—" His face crumbles and he hides against the glass, his hand tangled in his shirtfront over his heart as if trying to pull the aching lump of useless flesh from his chest.

Altair grabs him, wraps his uninjured arm around Malik's chest and squeezes, his brow bowed to the nape of Malik's neck feeling each breath, each sob each thump of the older man's breaking heart transferred through him but all he can do, all he can say is a lie;

"It's OK… Mal, it's OK."

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	95. Chapter 95

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**Chapter 95; Product of His Environment**

Altair pulls back carefully a few minutes later when Malik pushes his elbow back into his ribs and struggles from under his arm, eyes searching the printer's reflection in the glass as he rubs his face, trying to chase the tears away with the pads of his fingers.

"I'll do it…" Altair says without hesitation, "I'll—I'll do some background checks and ask some of the other parents… See if anyone else has—Jesus. Malik… I don't—" He takes a deep breath and lets it out. "I'll find him. I promise, I'll find the bastard and I'll stop him," He's lost with this already. It's all—it's all just such a mess and he doesn't know how to cope.

What's wrong with this world? What's wrong with this place that kids aren't even safe going to school but someone's exploiting them? What happened to the days when everything was innocent and things like this didn't happen?

The world was never like that, Altair knows. This—this awfulness has been around longer than civilization and will remain long after it's gone.

Altair drags a hand through his hair and turns to look at his friend, watching Malik's breath puff white on the windowpane, the look on his face is so lost and small Altair doesn't know what to do with himself. Doesn't know how to fix this, and that's when he realizes he can't.

Yes, he can find the man responsible, he can send him to prison for his crimes, but will that fix anything? Will that take away Gadil's trauma? Would that truly take away any child's trauma?

There is no FIX for this, no soap to wash these wounds clean. They will heal and they will scar and those scars will either be hidden and continue to bleed inside, or be worn as proof of their survival.

Altair moves forward and catches Malik off guard, he knows this because the older man brings his fist up defensively but doesn't swing, just keeps it curled between his chest and Altair's, stares out around the PI's shoulder over the city and for a moment, in his shock, lets himself be held for a little while longer. He lets the wetness dry on his cheeks and just breathes and watches cars pass.

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None of Malik and Hadiya's children go to school the next day.

Saree wants to know why, Kalila is in tears because it's her friend's birthday and they were going to have cake and WHY can't she go!

Altair calls the Superintendent first and tells him what's happened, who he is and what he's going to do. The man is understanding, sympathetic and agrees completely. He appears himself two hours later on his lunch hour to sit and talk with Malik and Hadiya while Altair contacts the neighboring Police Precinct, new faces that don't know Walker and Altair is thankful that they live across town and in this instance he won't have to pretend to Walker's face that he doesn't remember the bastard shooting him.

The officer that shows up with her partner is short, barely comes to Altair's chest and has bright red hair. Her name tag says 'Brady' and she sits in Altair's office with Gadil and Hadiya and Malik and takes the boy's statement while he clings to his father's shirt front.

Altair is surprised when there is a buzz from down stairs. He blinks, excuses himself and limps down the stairs to open the door. Not very many people used his door buzzer, fewer still knew it was even there.

There was a woman in gray slacks and a blue blouse under a matching jacket. She had a colorful duffle bag on her shoulder and a silver attaché case with stickers of ivy on it in her hand. She met Altair's eyes evenly and introduced herself as Marjory Rodriguez.

Altair's brows pulled down; "Marjory… As in Ezio's Marjory?"

She nodded, "May I come in?"

Altair hesitates, then opens the door and motions up the stairs. "Ezio's… He's—uh, upstairs in the kitchen… I'm—I'm having a little bit of a work emergency."

She nodded and took a seat in the 'lobby' while Altair called up the stairs for Ezio.

Kalila appeared at the top of the stairs and shouted over her shoulder; "EZIO! SOME LADY'S HERE TO SEE YOU!"

Altair rubbed the bridge of his nose and a few seconds later Ezio appeared, his gaze was questioning and as soon as he saw Marjory his eyes lit up and he took the stairs two at a time, jogging over to her and wrapping his arms around her. They spoke quietly for a few minutes and Ezio waved Altair over, slipping into Arabic so they could speak privately;

_"I called her from the hospital the day you woke up… Gadil, he—I had to…" _He looked up at Altair apologetically, _"I had to convince him to tell Malik and Hadiya, Altair… I was upset afterward and called her… talked to her for a while,"_ He pauses and swallows a lump in his throat; _"She wants to help, if they'll let her, she wants to help."_

Altair stared at him, shocked and a little angry that Ezio would keep this quiet, keep quiet about Gadil telling him. He ground his teeth and forced himself to breathe; _"He told you who's been hurting him?"_

_"No… The guy has him convinced—He… Altair, he was so scared. I couldn't just… I had to TALK to him to convince him nobody would hate him for what had happened. I had to—Altair, Please, please understand." _

He did, in a strange way, had seen the way Ezio had progressed, had known how the younger man refused to talk about what had happened until he'd nearly snapped. _"What if he hadn't told them though? Would you have done it? Broken his confidence to get him help?"_

Ezio hesitates but nods. _"He's a kid, Altair, he's scared and thinks this guy is going to take him away and send him to prison for lying… If he hadn't told Malik I would have and he would have hated me for it, I would have hated myself for breaking his trust but it would have been right… But he DID tell them, he took that first step and he TOLD someone and trust me, that's the hardest thing in the world to do!"_

Altair looks at him and gives his head a shake to dispel the images that had swam into focus in his head. Ezio had spoken at a few meetings for an abuse support group, but only those two times, had he not considered doing it again? Ezio… Ezio could do that. He'd been there, he KNEW what it was like and he was overcoming it every day… Altair looked at him and could see Ezio six months to a year from now, GED under his belt working on his college education and DOING this, this very same thing that Marjory had done and saved his life.

Altair let out a sigh and without thinking hooked that lonely finger on his left hand around Ezio's and gave his hand an affectionate shake. He nodded and stepped away to speak privately with Malik and Hadiya, he brought them over a moment later and let Ezio make the introductions while he went into his office to start putting together a case file.

Gadil was sitting in Desmond's chair spinning in slow circles, chin bowed on his chest snuffing quietly with tears.

Brady was sitting in Shaun's chair waiting for his parents to come back, just watching him with a sad look on her face.

Fifteen minutes later Altair's fax machine started ringing, it startled him because he still wasn't used to the new machine and not having to pound it with his fist to get it to work, he let his breath out between pursed lips and inched his way up to his feet, teeth ground together when he realized it was the background checks he'd requested from the School Board and faculty lists. Altair laid it all out beside the phone tree list Hadiya had supplied him with, the names of the children in Gadil's class highlighted and rubbed his face.

His office phone rang and he answered it calmly, more calm than he felt, "This is—"

"Altair?" Giovanni sounded off… Altair wasn't sure why, but he sounded off.

"Mr. Auditore, how—how can I help you?" He reclined a little in his seat, hips cocked to the side.

Giovanni took a slow breath before he answered; "Well, first off, you can tell me why I have one of your case files on my desk."

Altair blinked stupidly; "You have what?"

"I have the case file to the break in at my house, sitting here on my desk. It came the other day in the mail but I've not been in until today because of… because of things."

Altair's heart sped up; "Where are you? Are you at the bank?"

"Yes, I'll be here until four."

"That's great, really, that's—that's awesome. Listen, Ezio was wanting to come over anyway, so I'll swing by and get it so you two can have some time together or… you know, have lunch or something."

"That's fine… Altair… Ezio told me what happened. Are they alright?"

He inhaled and held it for a five count; "No… Shaun should be OK physically, but Desmond… It's not looking good."

Giovanni was quiet, thinking; "Is there anything I can do?"

"At the moment there isn't really anything I can think of, but that may change and if it does I'll give you a call."

"Good… Is—is there any way I can help with the investigation? I'm not exactly trained, but I'm less recognizable than you are to these people, they won't be as suspicious if I'm asking questions than if you were."

Altair's mouth opened, then shut with an audible click; "No… Enough people have already gotten hurt because of these bastards. I'm not going to endanger you. Ezio needs you, he needs his family and I wouldn't be able to live with myself if something happened to one of you because of this."

"His family includes you now, you know… Keep that in mind."

He nodded even though Giovanni couldn't see him; "I'll see you in a little bit then."

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	96. Chapter 96

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**Chapter 96; Death and Darjeeling**

"You headin' out?"

Abbas nods, "Goin' to go check up on the warehouse fire victims with Hayes, they're letting the Miles boy wake up today."

"Shouldn't you let VC take care of it? I thought Knight had the case now?"

Abbas nods and swings on his coat; "We got the DNA evidence in this morning, the perp's on Walker's list so he's going to get confirmation for a warrant. I'm just the uniform."

There are laughs from the bullpen. Abbas is never 'just the uniform' he was Army for twelve years, retired because a bullet took out his spleen and part of his liver, but he could never get away from the lifestyle. Law was all he knew… Outwardly at least.

He had been in the 'employ' of Hayes for almost a year now, since some woman came forward to the UN saying he and a few of his buddies, had brutally raped her, made her husband watch, then shot him in the face.

Hayes had made the bitch change her story and the charges were dropped.

It was a fair trade, Hayes had said. _"We have to protect one another… Nobody's going to stand up for us, all we have is each other."_

_"But what do I have to do to repay your 'kindness'?" _He'd said with a snarl.

Hayes had smiled and tilted his head;_ "Just help us watch one another's backs, make sure anything that may point to one of us is buried, or blurred. It's easy really. We're invisible and we'd like to keep it that way. If one of us goes down… we all do."_

"What does the DNA say? Do we have a mark?"

Abbas picks up the file and drops it on Davidson's desk; "Haven't got a look at it yet, that's Hayes' department, again… I'm just the uniform."

Davidson opens the file and grins; "Oh, I've heard about this guy! Before Nam he was a real thorn in the FBI's side. Three murders with him as prime, really gruesome stuff, liked to beat them half to death then sit there and smoke cigarettes while he jerked off to them choking… but they couldn't pin them on him, slippery as an eel, that was before DNA testing, but he was drafted, went away to Nam and as soon as he was shipped home he dropped off the fucking radar!" He drops the file open on his desk and Abbas glances at the image and something in his gut tightens… Something freezes.

He knows that guy… That's one of The Group. How the FUCK did this happen!

"Yeah, sick fuck idn't he?" Davidson says twirling a pencil. "Can't wait for this to hit the court… Hoho! God, I love it when they squirm!"

A few of the others laugh and Hayes comes out of the Chief's office, his face is grim and when he sees his file open on Davidson's desk he stalks over and snatches it back up, barking loudly to everyone who had been giggling and standing around gawking at the picture.

"Get back to work!"

Hayes takes a deep breath and taps the file on his hand a few times; "DA sent us a little present, I want Monroe and Dawson to take this warrant and go after this guy, his employer called in and said he'd just got off his shift. Davidson?"

"Yeah?"

"I need you to call Altair, let him know what's up, he's gonna want to be there when they bring this prick down."

Davidson gives a nod and reaches for his phone.

"You," Walker points at Abbas, "And me still have to go get the Miles kid's statement, the DA was being generous giving us this without it but he wants this statement to make the case and he wants it yesterday."

Abbas just looks at him for a minute then nods.

It's a quick walk to the parking garage and Walker lights up a cigarette when they get to the right floor, "Go on," He says, exhaling at the ceiling; "Number Thirty-Four, I've gotta call that stupid bastard and let him know what's coming."

Abbas lets out a relieved breath; "What the fuck, Hayes, I thought you were gonna turn him in—"

Walker shakes his head, "We gotta spook him like this every so many years or he starts up with old tricks… He beat that no good shit Mickey the Weasel's brains out the night of the fire and we had to think of a way to get rid of the body… Sibrand needs spooked every so often, keep him scared, keep him under control."

Abbas nods and walks away swinging the keys on his finger. He hears Walker's shoes on the concrete and shakes his head with a laugh. "Man, I'd hate to be in his shoes…" He unlocked the cruiser door and slid behind the wheel, his door shutting—

There was a smell, like thawed meat and Abbas turned with a wrinkle of his nose to stare at the passenger seat—

His mouth opens wide, eyes large and he gropes for the door handle because there's a dead body in the passenger seat with one milky eye hanging out of its socket and the left side of its head caved in. He gets out half a scream before the car explodes and his spine his blown out through the window.

It's a simple car bomb, effective, and Walker is out of the building at a run, ears still ringing.

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Altair is on the phone with Davidson when the explosion happens. He can hear it through the phone, a dull rumbling WUMP noise and a few of the other policemen in the building make startled noises as the fire alarms start going off.

It's all over the news before the fire department even has the fire under control.

'Car Bomb in Police Garage Claims Two'

Altair is sitting on his bed with a hand over his mouth in shock, cordless office phone still pressed to his ear, Davidson on the other end on his cell giving him the specifics between explatives.

"Aw, hell!" The man said in a howl, "Jesus CHRIST!"

Two days later the TV is still plastered with Walker and Abbas' photos. There are closed casket funerals Altair can't bring himself to go to. Thorpe had disappeared shortly after Chris funeral and not even she is around to offer the Hayes family sympathy for another loss.

They call it a hate crime.

Altair, strangely and quietly enough, thinks it karma and leaves it at that.

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Bryan Knight took a deep breath as he stepped into the room. It had been a long three days, too long in his opinion, full of reporters and camera crews and Walker's sobbing widow asking why—who—who would do this! Pleading with the children at her side and shaking hands as she read from a piece of paper that anyone with any information as to who had planted the bomb to please come forward, that there would be a reward for any viable information into the reason behind her husband's death.

Sharon asked and screamed WHY! WHY WALKER!

We don't know, they'd said. It was just random as far as we could tell. Some punk with a vendetta and we lost two good cops because of it.

Bryan stood there in the doorway for a moment, just looking at the young man on the bed, thinking how small and fragile and held together with paper and glue he looked.

His face was pale, the grayness of his complexion offset by the still livid bruises on his skin. The green and yellow around the reddish purple like something out of an artistic painting gone wrong. Desmond's eyes were dark and sunken and there didn't seem to be anything alive in them, just blinking out at the world with emptiness behind them.

His eyes shifted and landed on Bryan as he shut the door and his fingers curled defensively on top of the sheet, the right just half an inch from pressing the panic button to get nurses in there.

Bryan spoke softly to him, "Mr. Miles, I'm Bryan Knight… I was Chris's partner," He gnaws on his lip for a second; "I've come to take your statement, if you'll let me."

Desmond looks at him for a minute then gives a barely perceptible nod and his eyes return to the far wall.

Bryan takes a careful seat beside the bed and sets his pen to paper; "Can you state your name for me, please?"

"Desmond Miles," It's barely a whisper and Bryan has to lean closer to hear him.

"Your age and birthdate?"

He does.

"Okay, Desmond… Can—can you tell me what you remember from the night of the fifth?"

Desmond swallows and for a minute there is a bright burning light in his eyes, but then it's gone again and he shakes his head; "No…" He looks Bryan in the eyes says four words that seem to shake the ground beneath their feet.

"I can't remember anything."

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	97. Chapter 97

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**Chapter 97; Child's Play**

Altair puts on a bullet proof vest when Dawson hands it to him, it reminds him of his flack jacket, but not as heavy, everyone around him is wearing black armbands and black bands across their badges. Altair does not. He's in a t-shirt and jeans and his black jacket with the red in the hood and a pair of purple socks Ezio had found at the dollar store during his trip shopping with Hadiya the day before. He winces as Dawson helps him fasten the vest and holds his right arm to his chest, telling her that he's OK, really, he's just sore as hell.

She asks him what happened, he says he got shot somehow.

"Somehow?" Dawson snorts. "How do you get shot 'somehow'?"

"Can't really remember," He says with a wry crook of his lips; "Happened during the fire, I must have run in on the asshole who set it and he took a few shots at me… That's the only thing I can think."

"Well, don't worry," She says with a smile, "We're gonna get him."

Altair makes smalltalk on the drive, watching the two other cruisers ahead of them and often turning to spy the one behind them as well. Sibrand is known to be armed and dangerous and after the losses they've already taken, nobody is risking anything.

Altair remembers riding in a convoy through the desert, how somebody had an i-Pod and kept playing John Foggerty and CCR. Kadar had booed playfully at it and Malik had rolled his eyes.

Altair can hear it in his head now and it eases the knot in his chest.

Sibrand is squatting in an old house set for demolition. The windows are boarded up and there is graffiti all over the outside.

A few large dogs howl and rage in a fenced in yard two doors down and a few stray cats seek shelter under anything they can find. Altair thinks of Leo's cat and mocks a hiss at one, just for shits and giggles.

The SWAT team moves in first, the first rapps his fist sharply on the door then another comes forward and knocks it in.

It happens too quickly in Altair's opinion, he wanted to savor it, but something wasn't right. Something… something didn't feel right.

Sibrand was screaming, inarticulate one minute, German the next, then Shrieking enraged English; "He LIED!" A howl like a caged beast and there he is standing in a corner with a gun in each hand, Altair can understand some of what he's saying and it chills him to the bone;

"HE LIED! THAT FAT FUCK! I'LL KILL HIM! I'LL KILL YOU ALL!"

The police were shouting back at him; "ON THE GROUND! ON THE GROUND! DROP THE GUNS AND ON THE FUCKING GROUND!"

Sibrand acts like he may be obeying, his eyes are wild, he's unshaven and his hair is a mess. He looks like a crazed inmate.

Monroe shouts from the back of the wall of policemen listing off Sibrand's crimes and that he is under arrest. Dawson is letting Altair peek around the door but keeping herself between him and the Perp. Altair even if he is here with permission, is still a civilian and it's her job to protect him, that's how Altair sees it. The confusion on the blonde's face.

"What?" He says guns dipping.

The SWAT team moves forward, Sibrand brings his guns up again with a scream, pointing and screaming and aiming and screaming.

"I DIDN'T RAPE ANYBODY! WHAT ARE YOU IDIOTS TALKING ABOUT!"

"We have DNA evidence against you, so put the guns down and get on the FUCKING ground!" Monroe screams back, aiming his sidearm between the blonde's bulging bloodshot eyes.

And Altair knows what's going to happen the instant realization dawns on Sibrand's face. Knows what's going to happen but he can't look away.

"So…" The blonde says, his voice low and dangerous. "That's how it is…" He chuckles, "Look at you—you stupid sheep, there's a wolf in your midst and you don't even know it."

Nobody says anything but a few officers shuffle forward, trying to get close enough to mace the German and get the guns away.

"Well, tell the bastard I'll see him in Hell!"

Three officers leap forward Just as Sibrand turns both guns on himself, presses them both under his chin and pulls the triggers.

It's like something out of a movie… The whole top of the blonde's head comes apart in an apocalyptic burst of blood and graymatter. One eye flies over and bounces off a window the other is obliterated and Sibrand leaves a volcanic splash of red against the corner behind him and the ceiling, clumps of hair and shards of bone embedded in the crumbling plaster like a sick decopage.

Monroe grimaces and turns away as the body slumps backward and leaves an arch of gore on the wall as it falls over.

Altair is staring at the mess in shock and disgust and horror and feels mildly nauseous. The smell is terrible. Burnt flesh and coppery blood mixed with gunpowder.

It's not a smell most people can get used to, and a few of the police have to stumble outside and be sick.

Monroe gets on his radio and calls for a 'meat box' which is his way of saying an ambulance to transport a dead body then leans one hand against the doorway the other on his hip and surveys the ruin. He sighs and goes out onto the street to start crowd control, the neighbors are out in full force.

"Come on, Folks… Show's over."

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Altair slumps into the hospital holding his sholder. He's oddly disappointed by everything that's happened, it just… just seems like it's been tidied up too neatly, he doesn't like it, feels like there's something he's missed but he's gone through Desmond's file three times now that he's gotten it back from Giovanni and there is nothing. No magical piece of evidence, just Shaun's notes on how they'd sent a false letter to 'test for leaks' and it had blown up in their faces spectacularly.

Altair shut the file in his desk drawer and hasn't touched it since.

Ezio is in the waiting room when Altair arrives, asks him what happened and Altair mimes putting a gun under his chin.

Ezio's eyes widen and he looks sick for a minute then lets out a slow breath. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Altair says and takes a seat, rubs his face and rolls his shoulders; "Think I took that sling off too soon."

Ezio rolls his eyes and they both look up when the door opens.

Altair recognizes Bryan Knight… However he does not recognize the tall long haired man in the official looking suit that comes out with him.

The man has sharp cheek bones and dark eyes. He has his hair drawn back from his face in an official kind of way and everything about him just screams 'FEDERAL AGENT' to Altair.

Bryan walks over and lets out a sigh as he introduces the man.

Altair blinks and feels his mouth twist up like he's sucked on a lemon; "Racoon-a-what-now?"

The man blinks as if he's offended.

Bryan says it again and once more Altair can't pronounce it, is humiliated that he can't pronounce it because of all the people with difficult names he would think his would be more imposing. It's awful and frustrating, but he just—just can't say it, almost how his biological mother had never been able to correctly pronounce 'cinnamon.'

Ezio is sitting in the corner giggling behind his hand.

Bryan, getting frustrated trying to get Altair to say the poor man's name right, waves his hand and says simply; "He's FBI and he's taking over the case."

Altair looks him up and down and blushes when he feels the Special Agent's eyes on him in return. It had been intended to be a sizing up… not getting eye fucked.

Altair feels vaguely naked and pulls the zipper of his jacket up a little higher. "Okay… I worked with Matheson ten years ago on the Auditore Case, and I—"

"And I can see you've wrapped things up nicely," He flicks his dark eyes to Ezio then back to Altair with a knowing little smirk on his oxbow lips.

Altair feels his hackles rising.

"I would like very much to have copies of your case notes," It was by no means a request.

Altair sat his jaw defensively but gave a nod. "I can get you copies by Tuesday—"

"No need, Giovanni Auditore was kind enough to send us a copy already Attention; Agent Matheson… I'm his replacement so they came directly to me three days ago. This was just a formality."

Altair wants to sneer at him, but all he can do is grind his teeth a little. "Do I have to ask permission to wipe my ass? Or has that request already been received and you just want to hear me say it as a formality?"

"Altair," Knight says warningly.

The Agent chuckles and the sound of it is genuinely amused. "No, I think you can handle that on your own… But the Bureau formally requests that if you have any further development in your side of this case, that you inform us immediately…" He leans forward a little and says it close enough to Altair's ear that the PI gets goosebumps; "Let's hope, for both our sakes that any more 'developments' land on my desk not yours… I'd hate to have to arrest you for Obstruction."

Altair leans back and makes a pinched uncertain face; "Yeah, I've had one of those before… Wasn't much fun."

The Agent smiles; "I'm glad to see we're in agreement then, Sergeant Knight… 'Detective'," he says it with a smirk and a wink and his hair swishes a little as he turns and walks away.

Altair sneers at his back. "Fucking Feds…"

Ezio lets out a high tittering noise and rubs amused tears from his eyes; "Jesus, Altair… That was one awesome pissing contest… I'm—I'm not gonna ever forget that! 'Racoon-aday-who'." He wraps his arms around his middle and practically rolls over in his seat cackling.

Knight gives Altair a look, a crooked grin and a cocked eyebrow; "You gotta admit, that was funny."

"Shut up… I hate you both."

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_There, some obligatory Connor and my own experience trying to pronounce his name. Well, done OZ you DID manage to wedge him in there somewhere. (I'm not trying to be an ass, I really cannot pronounce his name AT ALL and when Charlie found out how I say it he peed himself laughing so hard.)_

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	98. Chapter 98

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**Chapter 98; Four Letter Words**

Ezio goes in to vist Desmond shortly after Bryan gets chased off by Altair for suggesting he just call the poor Agent 'Pigtails' since that doesn't seem to be too hard to pronounce.

Ezio gives him a kiss to nurse his bruised pride and together they walk back to Desmond's new room, their amusement fading as they approach.

Desmond is staring at the wall with wet tracks down each cheek and his lower lip aquiver. He's frowning, trying to stop it, but can't.

Ezio steps slowly into the room and calls out his friend's name. When all Desmond does is flinch and look pointedly away he stops beside the bed and puts his hand on the sheet close to Desmond's, then waits for a response.

Desmond's hand twitches and pulls away.

"Des."

"Don't."

Ezio takes a slow breath and leaves his hand where it is; "Do you wanna talk about it?"

Desmond's whole face tries to crumble but he fights it back together again, fights it into place and puts up a wall, settles a cold indifferent mask of calm over his face; "Nothing to talk about."

"Desmond—"

He turns his head and regards Ezio through watery dark eyes, and there's something burning and furious and hurt in them; "There is NOTHING to talk about. I don't remember ANYTHING. I don't know who did this or why and I don't want to know. I just want to leave this fucking place and never come back."

Ezio feels something in his chest break and he's a kid again, imagines that this is what it would have been like if Altair hadn't found them in that storage locker. He imagines trying to survive the abuse himself if Desmond had been this hurt, this frightened and angry then and he couldn't see it. "Des—"

"Go away."

"Desmond—"

"GO AWAY!" There wasn't any sound, just a hollow rasp as he tried to scream through the tightening of his throat and it probably hurt worse than just saying it would have.

Ezio slowly removes his hand from the sheet, nods, backs up a few feet, nods again and leaves.

Altair is in the hallway waiting, arm still in a sling and he regards Ezio warily, letting the younger man lean into his chest. "How is he?"

Ezio chokes on the words; "He's lying, Altair… He knows what happened, knows who did this but he's lying… I don't—I can't help him and I don't know what to do."

Altair looked up, peering into the room and he can see Desmond lying there in the bed, nothing but a face and hands above the rumpled sheet, machines and wires and tubes and pain all covered by white cotton but present and solid beneath.

Desmond doesn't look at him, won't, but Altair can see the fear in his face, the shame and desperation to be OK when he was clearly not.

"You can't help him if he won't let you," Altair said; "All you can do is wait."

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Altair sneaks down to Shaun's room while Ezio takes a moment to call Marjory.

The door is shut but when Altair knocks he hears Shaun's sister call a quick; "Come in!"

Altair cracks it open and calls out into the curtain pulled around the entrance; "Shaun? It—it's me."

"He's a little busy, but come on in," Eli says evenly.

Altair shuts the door and steps up to the curtain, "Everyone decent?"

"Yes."

Shaun is in a wheelchair, injured leg propped up head tilted back over the sink and he looks half asleep letting his sister scrub his head with rigid fingers.

"Is he OK?" Altair asks warily.

Eli nods; "His hair's uneven, he wants me to cut it but it's filthy and still has blood caked in it.

"Is he healed enough to be getting himself—"

"Yes, the doctors said it was OK, just no electric clippers and I had to be careful around it."

Shaun's lips twitch up; "You should forget about veterinary school and become a Hair Dresser."

"You should forget about Private Detecting and become a large fat man. Why didn't you eat your breakfast?"

Altair leans his hip on the side of the bed and listens to them argue.

"That was not breakfast, that was a sorry excuse for breakfast and it smelled like feet."

Eli rolled her eyes and rinsed the soap from her brother's head then dropped a towel on his face as she helped him lean upward. Patting the wound on the side of his head dry and moving to the rest of his scalp.

It looked a lot better than it had at first, there was still minor swelling around the stitches but the area was no longer a solid black MASS on the side of Shaun's head. It just looked like any other head wound Altair had seen, the hair shorn quite short around it.

"Not too short," He said, "Just the side there."

"Oh, you want a Mohawk?"

"Don't make me vomit."

"Your friend Davis has one, I thought you fancied him?"

"Davis is a cultural bore, no. Just trim it down so I don't look so uneven."

"You've got a massive headwound, you're ment to look uneven."

He made a derisive noise between his lips and looked up at Altair.

There was something in his eyes that Altair couldn't quite place. Something shut and false.

"Have you met the new FBI agent?" Shaun says evenly as Eli swings a towel around his sholders and takes up her comb, scissor held delicately between her fingers. The soft shushed snip of them falls into a dull background of hospital noise and Altair almost forgets she's there.

"Yeah."

"And what is your first impression?"

"I think he's kinda a dick."

Shaun snorts and smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes; "He came to take my statement and inform me, in no uncertain terms, that I am no longer legally your assistant and that I'm lucky to still be residing here and not shipped back to England for obstruction."

"Yeah, he pulled that on me too… I told him I'd tried that already, had the scar to prove it."

Shaun chuckles again, but Altair still thinks there's something wrong with it.

"Aparently I'm to be released on Friday… I think I've finally driven the nurses to distraction and it's either send me home or suffocate me in my sleep."

"Shaun," Eli rolls her eyes. "They love you, you're full of jokes and you even made that man who lost his leg crack a laugh during physical therapy."

Altair sees Shaun's hands shake as he folds them over his lap, fingers squeezing and squeezing until his knuckles are white.

"And that one nurse fancies you, I can see how he looks at you, slips you coffee even when you shouldn't have it."

Shaun hates coffee, is Altair's only thought, but he keeps smiling anyway.

He sees it now, can see it and he feels something in his chest ache. Shaun's not acting right, he's smiling and making light and chatting with his sister and flirting with nurses to get coffee.

Shaun's acting like Desmond and beneath the feigned humor and acceptance Altair can see fear in his eyes. Real, dark fear mixed with shame and shut away pain.

Altair takes a shuddering breath; "I just wanted to let you know they got the guy who attacked you and Desmond."

"Oh?" Shaun's twisting hands still and tremble in his lap. "He's been arrested?"

Altair shakes his head; "He killed himself… So…" He rubs his sweaty palm on the leg of his jeans, right arm tucked to his chest again because his shoulder is throbbing. "I guess that's it."

Shaun swallows audibly and Eli keeps snipping at his hair. "Who was he?"

Altair tells him and something in Shaun's expression twists; "No… No, they got the wrong man… The German was there, but he wasn't the one who—it wasn't him that attacked us, I remember that. I told that FBI agent who it was, that Des and I had put together a list of the Betas in the pack and that with your help we'd not yet identified the Alpha… That he was still out there somewhere… He didn't believe me, he said that Borgia was the Alpha and he was already in prision… But it doesn't make sense! There are too many Betas for just the one Alpha, but he just—he wouldn't listen, he said that The Collector wasn't a real person, was just—just a story that got passed down, something to scare the kids into staying where they were and doing what they were told, but it can't be—It can't be because we saw him! He was in that room and Desmond KNEW him! Why didn't he tell them!" Shaun's face was contorted and his eyes were running freely.

Altair took a good look at him, the fear and hurt and defensive rage and he didn't have an answer that would make it better because he knew as surely as Shaun did, as surely as Ezio did, that there WAS a collector, they just didn't have any proof.

Altair rubbed his face and let his breath out in a whoosh; "Desmond swears he can't remember a think, Shaun… And unless he remembers or decides to talk, we're at a dead end."

Shaun stares at him in shock, then with a shaking breath seems to deflate. Eli is still snipping at his hair but her face is scrunched and there are tear tracks on her cheeks. She's scared, frightened for her brother and it shows in the way she tries to bring back the lightness of the room; "You should let me dye your hair, Shaun… You'd look good with a bit of blue on the ends."

Shaun lets his eyes close and doesn't answer her. He can't and Eli knows it so she just clenches her teeth and keeps cutting until Shaun's hair is even and the longer bits on the top flop onto his forehead in a desperate attempt to hide his eyes.

It doesn't work.

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	99. Chapter 99

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**Chapter 99; Devil Among Us**

Altair rubbed his face tiredly as he climbed out of bed, flipping the blanket carefully up over Ezio's back before he left the room.

It was quiet, too quiet really, but he supposed that was what made this right. He cracked open the door to his office slowly, peering in as if looking for demons standing in the shadows.

He hadn't sat foot in here in weeks, not since Desmond had woken up and he'd found himself at a standstill with both the break in and Malik's cases. He felt too useless just waiting.

Malik had Hadiya had hired a tutor recommended by the superintendent to come and teach the children every day, deciding that until they knew who had hurt Gadil, none of the Al Sayf children were safe.

Kalila cried most of the time, because she missed her friends, Saree tried to comfort her and Gadil did his work in silence and said nothing of his opinion on home schooling.

Marjory came over every other day to work with Gadil, sometimes the boy was receptive, others he just wanted to sit and color and not think about anything. Altair sometimes found himself watching how she worked with him. Sitting there in the floor of the Lobby just talking, asking how his day was, saying that he was very good at coloring in the lines. Reassuring him that if he whispered into her ear who had hurt him she would make sure that that person never bothered anyone again.

Gadil would bite his lip and shake his head and pretend not to know what she was talking about.

Part of Altair wanted to shake the boy and demand to be told, but he knew that it wouldn't help anything. He would only scare Gadil even more, could really and truly hurt him if he tried to get the answer out of him simply by authority as an adult. Gadil had been wounded already by that very same authority and he would probably never trust an adult simply because they were an adult ever again.

Marjory, although progress was slow, was doing the right thing working hard at gaining his trust. Never expecting him to give it simply because she brought him coloring books or crayons or shared cookies and cannoli and sweets with him. She didn't treat him like a child. She spoke about things factually and honestly, when he asked questions she answered them to the best of her knowledge.

Ezio went to her office once a week for his own sessions and twice sat in with her and Gadil because the boy did trust him, felt at ease talking about what had happened with Ezio, but he still wouldn't give them a name. Wouldn't tell them who or even hint at it.

Altair felt it like a kick to the crotch because Desmond was doing the same thing. He still insisted that he couldn't remember anything and in his eyes Altair could see the lie screaming at him.

Altair visited Shaun at home three times now, twice Shaun had put that mask on, told jokes and let his hands shake violently in his lap. Once, the last time Altair had appeared, Shaun's sister had answered and said Shaun hadn't come out of his room in three days.

The mask was gone when Altair opened the door and peered in. Shaun looked up at him and tried to find it, tried to smile, but it just fell apart and left him staring up at the older man with pleading, hollow eyes.

There was still no lead. Still no break… Still nothing.

Altair left, pulled his hood up and hid his eyes behind a pair of Desmond's old sunglasses he'd found in his catch all drawer.

Ezio had taken his GED test on the twenty-first—Passed, as Altair knew he would and had taken him out to eat so they could try to forget for a little while that the world was not perfect.

Yesterday Giovanni had sent over pamphlets from every college and university in the state and for one evening, sitting in the floor leaned against their unmade bed it seemed they _had _forgotten. Ezio was smiling, excited, reading over the course study books and making lists of the classes he wanted to take. Pausing every so often to press a quick kiss to Altair's jaw while he was drinking his coffee, just because he could and he loved how the PI smiled into his drink when he did it.

They'd gone to bed and laid awake for a while talking. Ezio admitting that psychology was interesting, that he wasn't going to decide a major before he even filled out applications or had received his GED Accreditation certificate in the mail, but he wanted to look into it, take a few classes and see what it was all about. See if he could do it.

Ezio had eventually drifted to sleep but Altair couldn't… Just couldn't. Something was nagging at him, calling to him and it could no longer be ignored. The reality of the world could no longer be pushed aside.

He had work to do.

There were neat stacks of letters on the desk, mail he hadn't opened since before the fire. He approached slowly and stood over his chair looking at them for almost a full minute before he made himself sit and pull up to the desk.

He clicked on the lamp and picked up the first envelope. It was nothing too important. Legal stuff and he tucked it carefully away in a drawer for later perusal. There were a few more he knew were from the court house, some from the state saying it was time to renew his business license. Letters from the insurance company concerning Desmond and Shaun.

Altair stacked all these together and wrapped a rubber band around them. He could take care of those later, and stuck them in a drawer. There was another envelope, one of those over large Hallmark things like you send a relative you don't have the time or want to call, addressed to him, postmarked two days after the fire, nearly three weeks ago now, from some place in Upper Michigan.

Altair didn't see a return address and held it up to the light before he opened it. He didn't like getting letters from people who didn't have the balls to put their names on the envelope. But it looked like the standard issue birthday card or something. Altair let out a breath and pulled it open slowly.

It was a card, one of those with pale colors and flowers on the front—He turned to throw it away on sight because he didn't want a fucking sympathy card from someone he didn't know but then something dropped out from the fold of it and landed in the floor beside the waist paper basket.… something roughly postcard sized and glossy on one side. He hesitated, staring, not able to see it fully in the gloom but recognizing a picture when he saw one, he bent and picked it up. An older photo, a group of men in army uniforms, then opened the card to see who it was from.

There was the static inscription of sympathy and below it in careful, albeit untidy script there was a note;

_He found this at your parent's house in the attic, thought it would be a nice gesture to get it blown up and framed for your dad as a birthday present. I was afraid to give it to Walker because he was so torn up about it but I can't look at it anymore without seeing him. I couldn't throw it away so I thought I'd just give it to you to give back to him. _

There was something else, half written but scratched out and below it was simply _'Maria'_. Altair didn't recognize the name at first, but when he did he dropped his head to the desktop and stayed there for a while just breathing. He sat the card aside and held the picture between his hands under the desk lamp, just looking at it, finding Palmer Hayes' face easily because yes, he did look like Chris only with short black hair and tanned olive skin instead of Chris' rusty brown and European paleness.

And that's not all Altair saw…

It started slowly, a little tingle in the back of his mind and he blinked, turned his head to the side a little and actually LOOKED at the man with the bandaged head; cold eyes, an unnaturally self-righteous smirk, tall and commanding even if he couldn't have been anything more that seventeen or eighteen in the picture.

_I know that guy._

Altair's blood ran cold and he pushed back from the desk, shuffling to the filing cabinet and lifting up the fern Hadiya had put on top to retrieve the key, slotting it in the lock and pulling it quickly open. It took all of two seconds to find the Auditore file and he was back at his desk opening it and pulling out the clipped together photos of the men arrested.

He laid them out in a line then picked the four that were obviously too young and sat them aside, then held the photo with Palmer up to each of the mug shots of the arrested men.

Right there… There he was.

Altair rocked back in his seat with his eyes wide and his breath hitching in his chest. He had to swallow to regain himself, adrenaline shooting into his veins and he was hunched over the desk again, staring, comparing each face with the men in the photos.

There was Robert De Sable, head bandaged, grin still cocky and the light in his eyes still mean, even with lines of age around them.

THERE!

Borgia's younger face smiled up at him, arm in a sling, bandaged in a few places. Army greens fitting his much thinner frame.

Altair swallowed bile and groped for his bottom desk drawer, pulling the break-in file out carefully and finding the mug shots inside, laying them out one by one.

There, the blonde, that was the German Shaun had spoken of, Sibrand. Altair could still remember the splatter of the man's brain on the ceiling and walls, the confusion in his voice when he'd been cornered with the DNA evidence, unaltered because Walker wasn't there to change it anymore.

There was that sick doctor who'd had the boy in Mexico, the one Ezio had helped to recover.

All of them… Every single one of them was in this photo with Palmer Hayes and the second medic, the one with the serene expression and the purple heart on his chest… He was so familiar, his eyes, the smile, the way he held himself. Altair had seen this man before but couldn't put a name to him. Couldn't reconcile this young man in the picture with a man who must now be in his late sixties or seventies. It didn't matter though, nothing mattered because this picture, this single image tied a sex ring in with his father. It—it explained everything. It explained why Walker had tampered with evidence, it explained why it had been so fucking hard to find these pieces of shit. It explained why Sibrand had been so shocked, so surprised and angry to be cornered. Because he expected someone to clean it up. He expected someone who was still there, someone who hadn't been outted to clean it up and they hadn't. For whatever reason, they hadn't cleaned this up… Or—or had they? Had they planted evidence to make it look like the blonde had been the rapist? Had they covered the tracks of someone 'more important' and thrown the blonde to the dogs?

It explained why Walker had reacted as he had to Shaun and Desmond's faux letter, there was a picture and he knew about it. There was a picture of their father with all the men who were responsible for no less than a hundred children being taken from their homes and families, raped and sold to prostitution and in some cases brutally murdered.

It explained the car bomb, to 'take care of' the leak Desmond and Shaun's case was going to reveal. It made sure the information never made it to the media and the real leak, the real problem was never uncovered!

Jesus, it explained everything, even Altair's certainty that there had to be more than one cop tied into this that could make sure any crumbs left behind were swept up neatly and without notice, because really… Who would expect the chief of police to be one of the founding members of a Wolf Pack?

"I've got you, you bastard…" Altair felt himself growling, felt tears in his eyes. He slapped the picture down onto his desk and was on his feet before he even knew he was planning it, on his feet and out the door.

Altair barely registered his trip across town. He took a cab and tossed more money than he probably should have at the driver and told him to wait two blocks away and if he was still there when he got back Altair would give him another fifty for his trouble.

The guy's smile widened and he said; "Yes, SIR!" happily enough and started counting what Altair had given him.

It was a long walk in the rain and Altair almost regretted not putting on his jacket because it was bitterly cold, but he was too angry, too hot under his skin to really notice it.

It was a lie, all of it. This certainty burned in the back of his mind and Altair wanted to scream with it. Wanted to grab his hair and stomp his feet and SCREAM about it because all this time—All this FUCKING time he'd been there, like a goddamned spider in a web. Waiting for just the right moment to pounce. Waiting for just the right moment to creep forward and snare his pray and retreat back into the nest of lies he had created.

Altair wanted to be sick, wanted to just march in there and choke the old bastard to death. He wanted to ask why. WHY! Because he didn't understand. How—how could someone do this? What vital human element did they lack that allowed them to commit such heinous atrocities without even batting an eye!

If he was right, which Altair knew in his gut that he was, Palmer Hayes had orchestrated this all, had even planned his own sons' deaths. He had MURDERED his own flesh and blood.

Altair took the back way into the place. He climbed onto the fence and eased his way the six or so feet to the side of the house, grabbed the drain pipe and scaled to the roof, just like he'd done as a kid and wanted to be alone, although this time it was easier with his added height. The house was dark but Altair crept to each window and carefully peered in. There was no one in the upper floor, but he could see Irene asleep in bed, her hand tucked under her cheek and Palmer's side of the mattress was empty.

A light clicked on down stairs.

Altair flattened himself against the side of the house, shivering and watching his breath fog and lift inexorably upward until it disappeared into the night. He felt like a burglar or something, like some faceless ghost of a man creeping in shadow, something epithermal and deadly. He crept across the roof slowly, practically in a crawl and watched until the light down stairs clicked out. A moment later he heard the hum of the garage heater but wondered why no light was coming through the windows. He hesitated, but inched himself down the gutter and onto the garage roof, flattening himself out to hang over the edge and peer in—

The windows had been 'decorated' with lively Christmas wrapping paper, more like blacked out in Altair's opinion, he wondered why.

He was so cold now the barbell on his chest ached and part of him wanted to take it out to relieve the HURT of it. He couldn't hear much over the rain, but he could sense the murmur of voices. Someone was in there alright.

Altair carefully lifted himself up again, sitting still for a moment while the cold blood in his veins crept out of his head and back into his limbs where it belonged, then dropped carefully, quietly off the roof, pressed his back against the wall and gave a short, careful peek around the corner.

There was a motion sensor light, he knew. It had been there since before he'd gone away to spend that year at college that never amounted to anything. He also knew how to get around the thing. If he hugged the wall and moved carefully, he should be able to creep under it without it going off.

He tested how much room he had, inching his hand out from around the corner. He didn't dare attempt more than about ten inches because that was as far as the sensor stuck out from the wall. He was about to step around the corner when the voices within the garage rose and he ground his teeth because the door popped open and the motion sensor light blinked on.

"Don't worry about it," Male, mid-twenties to early-fifties. Altair couldn't be more specific because they were speaking in low tones.

"Did you really just tell me not to worry? Do you even understand what this means?" Palmer, low dark… angry.

"Don't," The younger man again, "I'll take care of it."

"You'd better."

Altair heard footsteps and for an instant panicked that someone was coming around the corner after him, but the footsteps faded away out into the street and Palmer's shadow lingered in the lighted doorway for a long few minutes before he shook his head and stepped back inside.

Altair released the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding and waited until the spotlight went out again before he tried to move.

This was it… The old man was alone, all he had to do was step around the corner, inch along the wall and confront him. He just wanted to talk, just wanted to know why, that was it. Palmer could be reasonable, he wouldn't shoot first and ask questions later—

Oh, fuck, who was he trying to kid here!

Altair swallowed a lump in his throat and for an instant contemplated fleeing. Palmer Hayes was responsible for the deaths of his two eldest sons, there was no reasoning with him.

Altair's hands shook but he slid his knife from his pocket anyway, wishing for his jacket so he could hide it in his sleeve, clipped onto his watch band where he could get it quickly and unnoticed when he needed it. He settled on just holding it. There wasn't much else he could do. If Palmer had a gun? Well… a knife wasn't much use against a gun but it was all he had and it would have to do.

He took a deep breath and carefully inched the latch of the gate up and slithered around the corner into the relative dryness of what his mother had affectionately called the 'Breeze Way', Altair remembered playing here as a kid and calling it the tunnel of doom, because it was so hard to creep out the gate from the back yard, through here past the garage door and the side door into the street. He felt that trepidation again now, like eyes were on him, watching, ready to shout that he'd been SEEN!

He was shivering, teeth chattering in his mouth, but he kept going, inching to the door and peering first, into the house—no one there—then turning to the garage. The door was unlocked and the heater was humming strongly, had been turned on a while. Altair slowly lay his hand on the knob and gave himself fifteen seconds to turn it, inching the door open enough that light spilled out in a pale sliver against the side of the house. He turned slowly, keeping himself flattened to the wall and peered in.

The old man was leaning against the hood of the car, head bowed fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Altair inhaled through flared nostrils and slid into the room.

Palmer looked up and for half a second surprise registered on his face. "Altair?"

He felt ten years old again… Staring into an unfamiliar familiar face. He'd been afraid of Palmer Hayes the first time he'd seen him, the man had had a carefully trimmed beard and the cataract on his eye had been worse before the first surgeries. He'd looked just like the man from Altair's nightmares. He remembered Palmer had looked so sad and disappeared into the hospital bathroom just to come out clean shaven so the child wouldn't continue to shout and run from him.

Altair had been afraid of him for months at first, until he had come home from school and found the old man putting together a bicycle on the front porch. Altair had crashed the thing into parked cars and mailboxes and trees more than two dozen times, but by the end of the week was tearing up and down the block with a determined look on his face. He'd accepted Palmer, had learned to love him as a father, had called him Dad for years…

He looked at him now and it all came flooding back. It hurt, oh, God but it hurt. He felt a burn in the back of his throat and his vision went blurry but he told himself it was just from the rain, just the rain and he pointed his knife at the man.

"I found your picture."

Palmer's eyes flicked left and right, thinking quickly and he sat up a little straighter, fingers curled against the hood of his car. "Alright then…"

Something cold and hard butted against the back of Altair's head, pressure, like a kiss of death and Altair became aware of a solid living presence behind him, just as it backed off a step.

Palmer didn't so much as flinch.

Altair swallowed, his ears buzzing and carefully turned himself, knife still pointed at the man in front of him, eyes lifting to find a familiar, grinning face behind him.

Walker smiled, a broad crooked thing that showed too many teeth to really be considered a smile. "Why don't you drop that knife, huh? There's a good boy."

Altair felt himself trembling from something other than the cold and for a minute his hand stayed solidly wrapped around the blade. Walker was supposed to be dead. He WAS dead. He'd been in that car with Abbas when it had blown up! It had been on the news, the DNA evidence had… Altair's face twisted into a snarl; "You son of a bitch…"

Walker frowned and pressed the gun right into Altair's cheek, roughly and hard enough to leave a bloodless imprint of the barrel; "Watch it, Al… That's my mama you're talkin' about."

Palmer stepped forward with a sigh and took Altair's knife from him, tossing it to the floor a few yards away. "That was a very stupid mistake, boy… You could have just let it go, could have just lived your life with that Auditore kid without incident, but no… no, you had to stick your nose in this again… Son of a bitch—"

"Hey, he gets to pull the mama card why can't I?" Altair sneered, feeling his rage at his helplessness building in his gut.

"Because your mother _was_ a bitch—A worthless slimy little slut!" Palmer leveled a finger in his face. "She caused me nothing but trouble and you're damned lucky I let you stay with her as long as you did."

Altair's brows pulled down in confusion and he gave Palmer a look that asked just what the actual fuck?

Palmer took a deep breath and let it out slowly; "Why would a young Arabic woman—a young pregnant Arabic woman at that—leave her family and move ALONE to a strange city?"

Altair remained silent, feeling somehow hollow.

"She wouldn't," Palmer clarified, "Your mother moved here for a reason… She moved here because of me."

Altair swallowed, he couldn't breathe; "What?"

Walker chuckled in delight behind him; "Just how hard do you think it is to change a name on a birth certificate?"

Altair felt like his chest was about to collapse.

"Awww," Walker crooned; "Look, he finally gets it!"

It started as a tingle low in his chest, cold and painful and burning in its iciness and for an instant Altair felt that cold vulnerability like he had the day he'd been explaining his subspace to Ezio, that brief FLASH when Ezio had asked why he liked to feel helpless when he was so afraid of it.

Altair lifted his head and spoke in a whisper, the sound of it barely audible; "I saw you…"

Palmer looked at him, head cocked to the side and his expression was almost sad; "And I'm gonna be the last thing you ever see too."

Walker prodded him in the scalp with the gun again, "On your knees."

Altair met Palmer's eyes, mouth compressed, eyes watering and shook his head. No. If this was how it was going to end he was not going to beg. Not after this, not after all this shit.

"Get on your knees or I'll shoot you in the back of the thigh and you can bleed for a while before I kill you… I took out someone I've known since birth, don't think for a second that I would hesitate to put you down." He smoothly cocked the gun and Altair could feel the click of it against his skin, the cold solid promise of a bullet ripping through him as if he were nothing and something in him snapped. He reacted on instinct, like he'd been taught in basic, step to the left and back—Elbow to the gut, right palm to the gun, upward blow with the heel of his left onto the elbow—POP, grab the weapon, backhand across the bridge of the nose as he turns, twisting Walker's arm up behind his back and forcing him to the ground and suddenly he's holding a gun trained on Palmer's left eye and all he feels is calm. So very calm…

This—this feels right. The gun feels solid and warm and RIGHT in his hand and he gives Walker's arm another vicious twist before letting the man fall to the ground, curled in on himself in agony.

Walker is bleeding, gurgling through the blood from his nose his broken arm held to his chest, bent backward on his elbow, fingers in helpless spasm.

Altair takes in a slow deep breath and lets it out taking a step toward Palmer with his teeth ground together; "Put your hands where I can see them and get down on the floor."

Palmer stares at him and there is genuine shock on his face, then slowly, slowly his lips curl up on a grin. "I knew it."

"On the ground."

Palmer's eyes are alight, wide and blue and terrible. "All these years, I knew you had it in you… I could see it."

"I'm not gonna say it again—"

"Oh, you don't have to, I can see it in your eyes, you're enjoying this… You LIKE it just as much as I do," Palmer chuckles and takes half a step forward just to freeze when Altair squares his jaw and tilts his chin down seriously, promising to pull the trigger if another move is made.

"Tell me, Altair… When did you first realize that there is no border—no line between pain and pleasure."

Altair remains silent but his brows twitch and something like uncertainty comes to life in his eyes.

"I realized it in the war… We'd been trudging through that godforsaken jungle for what felt like weeks… Half of us had foot rot, most of us hadn't seen a woman in a long time, let alone been in a position to do anything about it—The CO wouldn't let us, said it was too risky, anyone we touched could kill us… I'd been there maybe a month? But we came out of the jungle into this little village, and there were all these little girls… All these children… There was one girl, about thirteen, who spoke a little English, she called us pigs and said she hoped we died. So, we shut her up," Palmer was smiling, "She screamed and beat at us with her fists and bit anyone who tried to get near her mouth so we put a gun in there and she finally went still, but her eyes… there was such pain and hatred in her eyes—dark, just like your mothers and so beautiful filled with tears."

"Shut up," Altair felt the word leave his chest in a growl and he couldn't stop it, was too afraid because this, this right in front of him was the man from his nightmares the man he'd SEEN hurting his mother and he felt five or six again, terrified and too small and helpless to do anything but scream.

"I think though, the best part of it was when Norton put his face to her… I think hearing her scream around that gun while he got her off was just magical because when she looked at us she hated us even more because of it."

"SHUT UP!" Altair shouted it, felt himself shaking.

Palmer laughed and took another half a step forward, grin widening when Altair took half of one back to get away from him. "What's wrong, Altair? Did I hit a nerve?"

"Why did you do it?" Altair asked, feeling himself tremble under that gaze, afraid and furious and disgusted with everything around him, everything that made so much sick, twisted sense now. "Why did you hide all that evidence? Why let those sick fucks take those kids?"

Palmer's tongue touched his bottom lip; "It's like mother's milk, Altair, it sustains you… Like Eve's apple… Once you've tasted it, nothing is ever the same."

"Bullshit!"

"It's like looking into the face of God, and seeing your own reflection! All the little people running around like ants and you're up there looking down just watching them squirm in such repetitive futility… There is nothing more than this, Altair. Rules? Laws? They are for the weak! The mindless masses! The strong, the mighty make the laws and the world follows because it's all they know to do! They follow because it is in man's nature to be dominated, it is in man's nature to be ruled over… I am more than that. I'm one of the few with the power to hold the reins!" Palmer slowly, evenly sinks to the ground, knees spread, a grotesque lump growing in the front of his slacks.

His breath was coming in and out in gasps now, disbelieving, feeling the control of the situation inexorably being pulled from him; "That's it isn't it, it was never about money. It was a sick—SICK game for you! Putting yourself in a position of authority, a place no one would suspect… Where you could tamper the evidence and anyone who accused you was discredited, swept under the fucking rug? It was a game a f-fucking power play wasn't it—WASN'T IT!" He could feel his eyes burning, blurring out the world around him, blurring out that pale silver head and the blue eyes watching him. "Made you feel important… made you feel like a man? Big tough guy preying on women— on little KIDS."

He could end it… so neatly, so quickly. It would be over in just a second, one squeeze—

He wanted to throw up, wanted to tighten his fingers and feel the familiar kickBOOM of a gun in his hand. Wanted the smell and taste of gunpowder and blood thick and grating and acidic to his senses. Wanted to make those eyes dim and dark and lifeless. He could feel the sun on his back, and the weight of his flack-jacket even though it was dark here in Chicago, and all he was wearing was a rain drenched t-shirt. His mind was elsewhere, elsewhen and the man in front of him was no longer familiar—and that gun felt so good in his hands.

_Do it…_ that voice in his head whispered, soft and gentle and ancient. _Do it, end this once and for all. _

"That's it," he said, the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes folding, light—mischief gleaming in those familiar, laughing orbs. "Good—you can feel it, can't you. The power. Look at you, Altair, standing there with that gun in your hands—feels good doesn't it… feels good to look down that barrel and see someone kneeling, listening, submitting to everything you say—Doesn't that feel good? The power? I'd do anything, wouldn't I? Anything you told me to do…" His hands were lowering catching on his own face, the left sliding down the length of his body. "It makes you feel good—makes you feel like God, doesn't it—" His left hand scraped roughly over the front of his slacks and there was such glee in his eyes, such wicked, sick glee Altair wanted to be sick. "Makes you feel ALIVE!"

Altair felt something running steadily down the length of his cheek and he stepped closer, raising the gun with both hands, his lips rolled back from the fence of his teeth; "Shut up… You twisted fuck, just shut up!"

And he laughed, kneeling there rubbing himself through his slacks one hand on his face, oh so innocently; "Or what? What are you going to do, Altair? Kill me? Yes… go ahead, kill me. Kill me and prove me right. Go on," He said, such a pleasant almost loving smile on his face; "Do it… Shut me up_… Do it."_

Altair took a deep, slow breath to calm himself, the barrel of the gun dipped lower—

Palmer's mouth curled up into a satisfied smirk.

"Who is he?" Altair's voice was calm, cool.

Palmer's mouth drew down fractionally. "Who is who?"

"The other man in the picture… The medic with the purple heart."

"Dead," Palmer said easily; "He was killed about two months after it was taken, along with—"

"Don't lie to me… Lie to me again I'll shoot you in the balls and you can bleed to death that way."

Palmer's brows lifted for half a second, then scrunched down again; "No you wouldn't."

"Really? You wanna wait and find out?" He shrugged innocently; "Fine by me—" A hand went into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out Desmond's little digital recorder. "I've got all I needed anyway," He sat the recorder down on the hood of the car, took another breath and continued what he was saying; "Now I know for a fact that man is not dead, I've seen him somewhere, I KNOW who he is, I just want a name."

"You don't know anything, you ungrateful little prick—"

"He's the Collector, the last of the three Alpha personalities, yourself and Borgia being the other two. He's the Supreme Alpha in, what did his manifesto call you… 'The Knights Hospitilar'. He's a sick, twisted fuck with that same god complex you were boasting about a second ago only he's got it in his head that there are bloodlines dating back to Christ that need to be purified. A real whacko if you ask me. The Captain, as you called him, had similar views about the Agora, thought they represented the mindlessness of humanity, the animalistic way we flock together but think ourselves bigger and better than rest of the world… Now, you can tell me his name, or I shoot you and THEN you tell me his name… I've really got nothing to lose."

Palmer stubbornly sealed his lips.

Altair swallowed and made a show of aiming the gun.

And Palmer spoke. A simple two syllables and there was such hatred in his eyes, such fury—

"Vidic."

Altair's hackles rose and his blood flowed cold like ice water in his veins. "Say it again? Louder."

Palmer rolled his head on his shoulders and sneered when he looked up into Altair's face, such blind black hatred in his gaze; "Vidic… Doctor Warren Vidic."

And Altair knew where he'd seen him before, knew who he was… Knew so much in that instant he nearly lost consciousness. He breathed quickly for a few minutes and when he spoke his voice was rough and high in disbelief; "Where's the proof?"

"I don't—"

"What did I say about lying?

"It's gone!" Palmer insisted loudly, his eyes like lead; "We never kept it around long enough to become a liability. When we change something the original is destroyed, that's how it works, that's how it's successful."

"Then how did that picture survive?"

"Sentiment."

"Lying? Really, I thought we covered this?"

Palmer was grinning again; "You're not going to shoot me, you piece of shit, you don't have the balls!"

"No, I've got the balls," Altair smiled, showing a few too many teeth. "I'd just rather see you locked up in prison where your power trips can be fully appreciated by your cell mate and his mountain of a friend Tiny. I'll be sure to send you lots of soap and Preperation H."

And Walker's uninjured arm snaked around Altair's legs.

It was a quick thing, Walker trying to trip him and Palmer suddenly on his feet, grabbing at the gun.

The first shot was deafening, a loud burning _POP!_ Not quite a bang and the florescent bulbs above them exploded, raining glass and powder down on them and Altair hit the floor hard.

Then the wrestling began in earnest, Walker snarling wetly and clawing at Altair, trying to find the recorder while Palmer had one hand around his wrist, the other curled around the front of Altair's pants, SQUEEZING.

It was painful, hell it was more than painful. Having your junk crushed would make just about anyone scream like a little girl and Palmer was merciless enough to go for that instead of Altair's throat. It was any man's weakness, below the belt meant more than just the geographical location. It was dirty and mean and most men had the common decency to not take potshots at it.

Altair didn't let go of the gun though. In fact the punishing grip on his balls had the exact opposite effect on him. He squeezed and his trigger finger contracted.

Three shots in rapid succession the muzzle flash like a strobe light. Palmer's shocked face, the gun twisted and aimed in the darkness at his upper chest and throat and Altair was screaming, warmth and wetness splattered on his face and chest… The hand on his groin was loosening and the weight on top of him was suddenly absolute.

Walker snarled again and Altair jerked free of Palmer's slackening grip and lashed backward with his elbows, knocking the man's broken arm and causing the detective to roll backward in pain.

Someone was wheezing loudly and Altair rolled away, gun in front of him, sweeping back and forth and trying to control his breathing, shaking and sick to his stomach from the pain in his crotch. He dry heaved weakly and coughed up bile then leaned back tightly against the grille of the car, shaking and trying to slow his breathing. His right shoulder ached and his hands trembled.

Walker was still in here somewhere, waiting, pulled back and regrouping. It was so quiet, so still but for Palmer choking on his own blood and Altair didn't know where his older brother was.

And then there was light—the motion sensor flicking on as the side door to the house came open and there stood Irene in her night gown and house coat eyes wide in shock and horror and there was Walker not two feet in front of him with Altair's knife in his hands broken arm dangling, blade lifted, face twisted into something furious and crazed, shadows dark and sharp angled across his bloody features—Christ Altair would never be able to watch Zombie movies again—

Altair shouted in alarm, gun lifting and he fired two shots. His knife flew out of Walker's hand and clattered away into the darkness and Walker went down hard on his back. He didn't get up again.

Irene was screaming and Altair was still staring down the barrel of the gun, shaking inside even while his hands were steady. He felt cold… all over, inside and out and he realized, once the ringing in his ears had eased, that he couldn't hear Palmer wheezing anymore. Couldn't hear anything but Irene Hayes collapsed in the breezeway with a hand over her face sobbing and screaming.

He felt himself breathing, felt blood on his shirt front but knew it wasn't his own and forced himself to his feet. He sat heavily on the hood of the car and pulled the digital recorder from his pocket, staring it the blinking green light on the side and the steady glow of red, muttered an exhausted; "Fuck…" And stood on shaking limbs.

He moved slowly, limping, wincing as he stepped out into the breezeway and pressed his back against the wall across from the hysterical woman, sliding down to sit with his legs jackknifed and his hips canted to ease the pressure on his abused genitals. He met that terrified, grief stricken gaze with his own and felt the world fall out from beneath his feet.

He couldn't put the gun down, it was as if his hand were fused to it but he pressed the back of his hand to his brow anyway, recorder dangling between his knees from limp fingers and felt his chest hitch.

He didn't really know why he was crying at first. But then he couldn't stop himself, and when the motion light blinked out he and Irene sat there in the rain and the darkness and waited for the police to show up.

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	100. Chapter 100

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**Chapter 100; End of Times**

Altair played the recording for the officers that showed up, sitting at Irene's kitchen table, he watched the woman he'd called his mother as her face crumble, watched the policemen who had called Palmer 'Chief' and 'Friend' pale and turn away with sick realization.

He gave his statement and accepted the cuffs around his wrists and sat silently in the back of the police car until Irene came over and looked at him deeply for a moment, studying this man she had called son who had killed her husband and one of her children. Her eyes were bloodshot and her lower lip quivered but she pulled him to her chest and whispered apologies between sobs, for what Altair didn't immediately understand. He apologized as well, begged forgiveness but she just shushed him and held a trembling hand to her lips as the door was shut between them and the car pulled away.

It was nearly dawn by the time Altair was booked and sitting alone in a cell, head bowed between his knees. And by noon the District Attorney was there with that longhaired FBI agent whose name Altair couldn't exactly pronounce.

The DA handed him a file, thin, two or three pages at the most and let out a considering puff of breath; "Your… boyfriend, sent this over a little while ago, said it explained why you were there."

Altair carefully opened the file and had to bite his tongue to keep from making a noise of shock.

Inside was a fax confirmation sheet and a carefully written statement with Desmond's signature at the bottom, as well as Malik's and the vague printed impression of Malik's notary seal.

It was horrific… all there in Desmond's handwriting, details about the night of the fire, what he remembered, the names he recalled and more specifically WHO he remembered attacking him.

It was everything. Everything Vidic had growled and whispered into Desmond's ear, everything that was on the recording Altair had made was confirmed here…

Altair wondered what had changed, what had made Desmond speak up? He hadn't even seen the younger PI since his last visit to the hospital… What had changed?

Altair looked up at the DA with a steady expression on his face. He didn't say anything, just closed the file and handed it back.

The DA handed it to Special Agent Pigtails and looked Altair up and down appraisingly; "I trust you'll have a full case report by tomorrow?"

Altair's throat tightened, but he nodded.

The DA gave him a single downward nod and walked away.

Behind his back Pigtails gave Altair a crooked grin and a wink, tucked the file under his arm and made an 'OK' sign with his fingers as he left.

There were no charges, there would be no trial.

Altair was carefully checking his wallet and personal belongings out of Hold in fifteen minutes, he exited the building expecting there to be reporters and a practical mob outside waiting for him… There was only a cab and Ezio, the young Italian's face was pale and his eyes looked puffy, no doubt he'd been crying and when Altair was within reaching distance he wrapped his arms around the PI and squeezed.

Altair squeezed back.

Ezio's breath hitched and he spoke slowly, carefully; "It was Gadil…"

Altair didn't dare pull away, just gripped harder.

"He was with me when I found the pictures. He pointed it out… Malik—Malik cried…"

Altair let his breath out slowly, eyes sliding shut, "Then you went to the hospital and he convinced Desmond to say something—"

Ezio nodded. "God, Altair this is such a mess."

Altair nodded and lifted his hands, framing Ezio's face and petting his hair back so they could just look at one another. "It'll be OK though…"

"Will it?"

He nodded and popped open the back door of the cab, climbing in and pulling Ezio with him.

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It took six hours to get a warrant and charges filed against Warren Vidic with the FBI's help. Bryan Knight was one of the six officers there for the arrest. It was all textbook, Vidic didn't put up a fight, in fact he seemed amused by the whole thing.

"I'm gonna need all your personal items, Mr. Vidic. Your phone and wallet, anything you have in your pockets, you know."

Vidic nods and empties his pocket, blushes, holds up one finger and fishes a pack of cigarettes from within the jacket of his suit. "Guilty habit," He says and lets the policemen pat him down again and is ready to go when Bryan Knight clears his throat;

"The ring… They're gonna need your ring too, Mr. Vidic."

Vidic pauses and blinks down at his right hand; "Really?" He is annoyed by this.

Bryan shrugs; "It's policy, sorry, they don't want anything that can be used as a weapon."

"A ring?"

The clerk behind the counter rolls her eyes; "I'm sorry sir, but he's right," She produces a little plastic bag; "You can put it in here and we'll keep it safe for you."

Vidic rolls his eyes and pulls the ring off, dropping it into the baggie and turning to follow the officers to the holding cells until the District Attorney arrives.

Bryan pauses and gives the girl behind the desk a wink.

She takes the baggie with the ring in it and runs in the opposite direction toward the lab.

Vidic waits patiently until the DA arrives, greets the man calmly, asks what this is all about and listens raptly as the man read Desmond's statement and played the recording Altair had made.

Vidic didn't look frightened once, there was an expression of smug satisfaction on his face and he leaned across the table on his elbows, fingers laced together; "But where is your evidence? You have nothing here that would hold up in court, I've always been very open about my military career, I had dozens of pictures taken of me, I don't have a single blemish on my record, not even a speeding ticket in the last fifty years. You have a written statement from a young man who suffered a catastrophic injury and an audio recording of a seriously disturbed renegade policeman. You have good cause to arrest me, I'll give you that. This could even be taken to court, I could be put on trial and this could be a lengthy, exhausting, public endeavor. You would be ridiculed for prosecuting a man who, by the only hard evidence you have is proven innocent, and the case would be closed, I would be found innocent and you would be out of a job… You, sir, have absolutely nothing but two statements that any mildly competent lawyer could discredit in five minutes… You have nothing, and as long as this takes, as long as you pursue it, I will wait it out because you have no way of winning this and you know it."

The DA takes a deep breath and lets it out.

There is a knock on the door and a young man with black hair slips into the room, holds a file up in front of the DA's face as a shield and whispers into his ear.

When the file is lowered the DA's smile is satisfied. Delighted and just a fraction cold.

The young officer retreats and Vidic is left staring at the file.

"Did you know, Mr. Vidic that striking someone in the face while wearing a ring—especially a ring with tiny little fiddly diamonds on it, more often than not breaks the skin? And did you know, the spaces around those tiny little fiddly diamonds can harbor traces of the victim's DNA? Kinda like when my wife's engagement ring gets dirty… She has to use a toothbrush to get all the dirt out…" He taps the file against the tabletop and fixes Vidic with a cool, calm stare. "Wanna guess what I got in here?"

Vidic leans back in his seat and stretches his palms out on the tabletop. "I want my lawyer."

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Vidic walks on bail by midnight. His phone has been tampered with, he knows it, knows how the FBI works and he tosses it in the nearest garbage can after he's out of sight of the police station. He empties his pockets and throws away just about everything, hands one credit card to a homeless man to lay down a false trail, and tosses the others into the street. He's cursing and his heart is racing because this is BAD. He has no one on the inside now, no one to sweep this minor slipup under the rug. The DNA evidence that says he's innocent that says Sibrand had done it will be thrown away once the jury hears that recording, hears Palmer squealing like a whore in a coal camp. And they've probably got more of the DNA on file that WILL match his and there is NOBODY there to burn it!

He lights a cigarette and stands on a corner smoking and forcing himself to calm, forcing himself to think.

There has to be a way out of this. There is ALWAYS a way out of this. He takes a cab home and spends the night pacing and smoking and refusing to speak because he knows they've searched his house, even if they didn't have a warrant to, he KNOWS they have and there are bugs in there. Cameras in the mirrors and light fixtures. Microphones in his pillow and stuck in the wall paper.

It's that PI's fault, that stupid little accident of Palmer's. It's his fault!

_I'll ruin you…_ He promises in his head.

_I'll RUIN you!_

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He makes his decision at close to dawn, the only way he'll get out of this mess is to make a doorway for himself and if that fails, he'll do what he must to make sure his legacy is still in tact.

He leaves his apartment wearing the same clothes he'd had on the day before, hails a cab and climbs out two streets away from Al Sayf Printing.

He walked with single minded determination up to the front door and stepped inside.

The whole shop smelled like hot copy toner and warm paper, the place seems homey and welcoming, a few plants scattered around the front lobby and some posters pinned to the walls between bookshelves, There are advertisements and photos on the wall behind the desk.

He could see into the workroom, all the machines running smoothly today. There were a few sounds from the back, someone moving around, the clatter of a paper tray being fitted back into a machine a toddler babbling in Arabic.

The little electric bell on the counter has a small sign written in precise calligraphy sitting above it that says 'Push Me'.

Warren, for some reason likes the sign for all the wrong reasons and puts pressure on the button then lets it off. He can hear it ringing in the back. Loud and electronic, two tones.

"Just a moment!"

Warren can be patient. It's something he's prided himself on since he was a child. Patience. He's waited ten years for this, he can wait a few minutes longer.

The man comes into the front with his head bowed over a little book, the left sleeve of his black sweater pinned up, the collar of his button up crooked over the neck of it. He looks up with a smile and a; _"Can I help you?"_ frozen on his lips, fear and rage flashing for half a moment on his face before Vidic points his gun at it and fires.

The sound is deafening and the little one armed man goes down hard half through the doorway. There is a splatter of blood all over a photo of the man and his family, droplets on the ceiling tiles. It's so red and delightful against the white of the walls. Warren lets out his captive breath and pushes the folding leaf of the counter up to get behind it he can see the growing slick of red under the man's head. He steps over him carefully, doesn't want to get any on his shoes and bypasses the toddler in the office who is sitting in front of the desk with hands clapped over his ears screaming. He contemplates putting a bullet in the little monster's head, but thinks better of it, he only has so many and he may need a few for the ones upstairs.

Vidic walks past the cutting room and pushes open the storage room door, glances back and forth to get his bearings and goes to the elevator. He closes the gate and sends it on its slow, merry way to the top floor as a diversion, pushes open the stairwell door and takes them two at a time.

Vidic remembered the stories Saree had told him, about her 'Uncle' that lived on the second floor his office and bedroom, how she thought it was fun to take care of his plants and when he wasn't looking sit behind his desk and pretend to be him. He follows the hallway down and pushes open the door, expecting to be met with that damned PI first thing, but he's not. The second floor seems perfectly deserted. He walks with his gun in front of him, just like he'd been taught in the army, moves quietly through the open forward room. He can hear the elevator creeping along up the shaft, it's a dull hum and groan of metal and gears behind him.

The storage room was empty, a few boxes but nothing large or substantial enough for a human to hide behind, he shut the door and moved on. There are so many places to hide in this place but he vows to check them all.

The PI's office is empty, but there is a cup of coffee still steaming on the desk and papers splayed out as if only just put down. The bathroom is empty, So are the PI's bedroom and the other storage room.

He snorts and when Warren comes out of the room gun first he sees the PI standing there between him and the stairwell with a fucking sword.

Warren laughs, can't help himself. "Really? A sword?"

Altair looks a little uneasy, there is sweat on his brow and his eyes are dilated; "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

"I'm not even going to tell you to put that down, it's just too funny," Vidic advances on him slowly, smiling, watching as Altair backs up just a little quicker; "Are you afraid of me?"

Altair shakes his head.

Warren stops at the corner as he comes to it; "Come out, Mr. Auditore, I know you're there… Come out, come out wherever you are!"

Nobody moves.

"Ezio," Vidic's voice makes Altair's skin crawl. "If you don't come out here by the time I count to three… I'm going to put a few holes in your lover that you won't enjoy."

He doesn't get an answer.

"One."

Still nothing.

"Two!"

Altair swallows with some difficulty and his eyes flick to the side, toward the waiting room with an expression of desperation on his face; 'No' that look says, 'Don't you do it!'

Vidic smiles, lips pulled back from his teeth and he feels something cold touch the side of his throat. For a moment he doesn't really believe it's there, but then he realizes it is and the humor fades from his face.

Ezio is breathing steadily, not even the hint of a shake in his hand as he fists his free hand in the collar of Vidic's coat, the shiny new blade of his own knife to the man's throat.

"I could still shoot him, you know," Vidic says calmly; "I wasn't really expecting to get out of here alive."

Altair springs backward, just as the gun goes off, drops down into a crouch and launches himself forward, as Vidic turns and brings the gun around to point at the Italian.

Ezio brings his hands up from somewhere near his knees, wrapped around one another and hits Vidic under the chin. He's too close and too wary of the gun to get in a good hit, but it's distraction enough to stun the man. Vidic makes a noise like a pig being kicked at the blow and stumbles forward, arms drooping. Ezio shoves him down, stomps hard on the nearest hand and runs for his life, eyes wide, letting Altair grab him and away they go, across their little lobby and up the spiral staircase two and three steps at a time, Vidic snarling after them as he swings the gun in their direction.

Hadiya and the kids are hiding in the pantry, Hadiya with the phone to her ear, speaking as calmly as she could to the 911 operator that there was a person with a gun in her home and she thinks—oh God—she thinks the maniac may have shot her husband.

She has three of her children behind her in the space, one arm curved around her stomach, sobbing between words and shushing the kids in the same moment because they have to be quiet, they have to be quiet so nobody can hear them. Gadil's face is hidden in the back of her leg and he's shaking, has wet himself in his fear because it's true. He told his father who had hurt him and now there was someone coming to kill him.

Saree and Kalila are pressed close to their mother, gripping her shirt and the fabric of her slacks and biting back sounds of fear.

Vidic gets to his feet with a snarl, injured hand pinned under his arm, gun still in hand. He runs up the stairs with blood foaming in his mouth and sweeps the living room and dining room with his gaze. He can hear the woman and the children sobbing, doesn't care about them at the moment because he wants that goddamned PI's brain splattered out on the floor. Wants to pin that no good rotten little pipsqueak Ezio to the nearest surface and make him scream over his lover's body, make him bleed before he cuts his throat open and watches him choke on his own blood… Then he's going to enjoy that little boy… Yes. The smart one with the big black eyes and the soft skin that bruised so nicely before. He wants to hear those noises of protest, the look of fear and humiliated desperation in that gaze, one more time.

"Ezio," he sings it, smiles to himself remembering playing as a child, singing out his friends' names while they sang out his. "Aaaaaaltaaaaiiiir! Come out come out wherever you are!"

Nothing moves.

"If you don't come out now I may have to take it out on one of the chiiiildreeen."

The sobbing is louder from the other room and Vidic heads in that direction, grinning to himself. "What's the matter? Don't you want to play?" He smiles, thinking of smiles and laughter and dark haired children infected with plague. "Ring around the rosey… Pocket full of posey… ashes, ashes… We all… Fall… Down."

"ALRIGHT!" And there is Altair, hands lifted slowly emerging from behind a chair in the far corner. "Alright, here I am… just—just put down the gun—"

Vidic turns and points the gun at him; "Why? Think you can rush me? Think you can take me down with that knife of yours?"

Altair carefully strips off his jacket, unsnaps the knife from his watch band and throws it across the room. It skids between Warren's feet, under the door of Malik's office and is gone.

Vidic thinks about it for a moment, thinks about just putting a bullet in the PI now and then finding that little Auditore shit. "Alright… Now, where is Ezio… Bring him out, and then we'll talk."

Altair's jaw clenches tightly and his eyes shift, looking Warren's expression over. Then he looks to his feet apologetically.

Ezio slowly stands up, hands raised and steps to the end of the couch to Altair's other side and faces the maniac, he's shaking but his jaw is clenched and though there is fear in his hazel eyes, there is also determination.

Warren smiles and levels the gun at them; "Oh, yes, I'm going to have so much fun with this… You'll break so pretty the second time."

Ezio doesn't give him time to finish, just lifts one leg, plants his foot on the arm of the couch and shoves it right at the doctor. It knocks Vidic forward in surprise over the arm of the thing, the gun goes off, a window breaks and Ezio is on him, Altair grabbing at the gun, wrapping his hand around Vidic's little finger and prying it backward until it pops off its joint and the gun falls free with a snarl of rage and pain.

"GO!" Altair screams toward Hadiya and the kids as he dives for the gun; "GET OUT OF HERE!"

They move, Saree has Gadil in her arms and Kalila has her mother by the hand while Hadiya supports her stomach. They run to the spiral staircase and down, sounds of terror echoing behind them as they flee.

Vidic roars and arches up Ezio still on his back, he crashes himself hard into one of the steel support beams in the room and Ezio's head makes a solid SMACK noise against it. He falls to the ground dazed and blinking stupidly. Vidic shouts and makes for Altair, hands up and curled into claws, bloody foam dripping from his lips eyes wild and bloodshot and watering.

"STOP!" Altair says firmly, loudly in warning taking a few steps back to give himself more time. "STOP! I'LL SHOOT!"

Vidic doesn't stop.

Altair has a split second to decide, half an instant, and he imagines this monster on Ezio. Imagines him hurting Desmond and Gadil and Altair's lips roll back from his teeth, the gun shifts and he puts a bullet into Warren Vidic's crotch.

The man releases a shriek and goes down on his face grabbing at himself, eyes wide and shocked and dilated.

Altair takes a step forward, his ears ringing, watching the man bleed, gun raised to finish it.

"Don't!"

Altair's hackles rise and he turns, lifting the gun instinctually and finds himself staring at a familiar form in the doorway, between the china cabinets not five feet away from him.

There is a bloody groove on Malik's temple and his eyes are dilated, but he's alive, on his feet and aside from the substantial amount of gore on his face and neck and shirt, he seems to be himself. Malik's face contorts and he looks down at Vidic lying there gasping and pawing at the hole in his abdomen where his genitals had once been. "Give me the gun," Malik says it low in his throat, barely a rasp.

Altair doesn't hesitate, just places the pistol in Malik's outstretched, shaking hand.

Malik shifts it in his grip remembering the feel of a weapon in his hand, finding it pale and unsatisfactory compared to what he has now. It doesn't feel right, he's a father not a soldier, but this isn't a soldier's prerogative. "Hadiya?" Malik says quietly, glancing up at Altair. Wanting to make sure his wife and children can't see him, can't see this shadow of what he once was cloying at him.

"Out in the street by now."

Malik lets out a calming breath and turns to the man writhing on the floor; "You hurt my son… You almost kill a boy I consider my own, and then you come into my home and threaten my family?"

Vidic snarls up at him; "You weak, miserable little sorry excuse for a man, you won't do it, you don't have the—"

Malik lifts his brows innocently, "Oh?" He doesn't even blink.

Ezio's ears are still ringing when Vidic goes still, he can't really tell what's happening, only that Altair is patting his face, saying his name.

"I'm OK," Ezio says softly, swallowing a sick ache in the back of his throat, blinking to clear his vision. "I'm OK, just knocked… wind out of me."

Altair carefully threads his fingers through Ezio's hair and finds a lump forming on the back of his head, but thankfully no blood; "How many fingers do you see?" He waves his hand in front of Ezio's face.

"Shocker, Altair… still not sexy."

He snorts; "Yeah, and you're still goin to the doctor."

Ezio rolls his eyes but doesn't complain.

Altair lets out a shaking breath, grips his face and pulls him in to a kiss, hissing into his lips; "That… that back there? You kicking ass?"

"Yeah?"

"Hottest fucking thing ever."

Ezio chuckles; "My specialty."

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Saree, even in her fright, keeps her head and as soon as her mother, brother and sister are safe across the street she runs back to the shop to find Zafir, knowing her father would have left him in the office where he would be safest.

Zafir is still crying, rubbing at his ears and standing at the baby gate with a frightened, forlorn expression on his face. When he sees his sister he bellows for her and holds his arms up in the air; "Reeeeeeeee!"

She holds him safely to her and a moment later when they arrive buzzes the police up through Altair's door, leading the paramedics through the back to the elevator.

"Is he OK?" One of the medics asks, motioning to Zafir. Saree nods, "He's just scared… We're all just scared… They got the gun away from him… he w-wouldn't stop—"

"It's alright," The Medic says, crouching to rub the moisture from her pale cheek; "It's alright. Everything's gonna be OK."

They take Vidic's body out in a black bag and Malik out on a gurney even as he protests that he's fine, really as soon as his head stops spinning he'll be fine.

An EMT checks Ezio out and says he has a minor concussion, that if the headache gets worse, or he starts experiencing any new symptoms to come to the hospital right away.

The police take him and Altair in the same car to the station to get their personal accounts of the whole matter.

Hadiya has run out of the building across the street with her hands over her mouth when she sees her husband. She comes up to Malik and starts shouting at him through tears in Swahili, raging that he never—never scare her like that again or she'd kill him, she'd just—just KILL HIM! She thought he was dead and his head! OH his poor HEAD!

Malik lets her fuss until the paramedics have to put him in the back of the ambulance. A police car follows him all the way to the hospital and takes his statement while a doctor is stitching his head up.

"I came when I heard the bell and that's when he must have shot me… I woke up a few minutes later with a pounding headache and the man was gone. Zafir, my youngest was screaming, but nobody had come at the sound of the shot so I knew the man was still there. The office seemed the safest place since he'd come and gone already so I went up stairs and that's where I found him. He had a gun on Altair and Ezio, Ezio kicked one of the couches into him and knocked the gun away… I picked it up and he came at me. I told him to stop or I'd shoot, he didn't stop so I shot him… He came at me again so I… I made sure he stopped."

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Hadiya doesn't trust the doctor's work. She sits Malik down on the bed they will share to check his stitches as soon as they get to the hotel the police insist they stay in until the 'crime scene' has been properly catalogued and everything cleaned. The kids are huddled together in one bed, fit this way and that across the large mattress.

Zafir sprawls himself like the starfish on the front of his pull-up, Saree and Kalila are back to back, and Gadil is curled on his side, looking somehow peaceful knowing the nightmare has been silenced once and for all.

Malik winces when she peels the gauze away and pushes his hair back to get a look at the groove cut in the side of his head from the bullet passing.

"I guess it really is lucky you've got such a hard head," She can't bring herself to smile, though she wants to.

He touches the length of her arm and lets her pull him in, wrapping one another in arms and just holding, holding for the longest time.

Malik is quiet, breathing in her scent and laying small kisses along her shoulder, feeling the press of her stomach between them and soft gentle movements from within. "I killed a man…"

She hums into the skin below his ear; "You did what you had to do."

"Will you forgive me for that? I promised you I would never let a gun in our home and I killed a man with one in our dining room."

Hadiya pulls his head up carefully and meets his eyes; "That was not a man… that was a monster— a monster that hurt our sons and would have killed us all if you and Altair hadn't stopped him."

He sighs, lets out his breath slowly and a weight lifts from his shoulders, leaving him looking tired and sad and relieved. "I woke up and there was blood all over and Zafir was screaming—I—I didn't know what had happened—"

She hums and presses her lips to his to silence him, "It's done… As soon as the police say it's OK, we'll go somewhere… We'll go to Florida or out west somewhere like Ezio's parents for Christmas… just—just get away from everything for a while."

He shakes his head slowly, trying not to wince as it aches so much; "We can't run away from this because we'll just have to come back and face it."

She nods and lets her fingers hover an inch over the wound on the side of his head. "What do we do then?"

Malik takes a deep breath and lets it out; "I'd say some extensive remodeling… Take a sledge hammer to a few things… A new bedroom for the babies, we can convert that storage room on Altair's floor, the one he doesn't use… You could have your own office once you finish your schooling."

She smiles then and it's hopeful; "A psychologist, a private detective, and a publishing house in one building."

Malik smiles, "Maybe more than one private detective… I know just as much about this as Altair… If Desmond decides not to come back, maybe… Maybe."

Hadiya lets her breath out slowly and nods; "Maybe."

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It's dark in Desmond's hospital room, just the faint glow of a small lamp in the corner. He's awake, can't sleep, can't let himself dream, not now maybe not ever again.

He flinches when there's a knock at the door, bares his teeth and reaches for the call button when the door cracks open and he can hear the click of aluminum… Crutches.

Shaun inches into the room.

Desmond stares at him, the pink scars through Shaun's lower lip, across the bridge of his nose, at the corner of his mouth. He's lost weight and he looks so strange in loose jeans, those black shoes with the orange laces and matching jacket. His hair isn't spiked, isn't styled just lying limply in soft auburn waves on his brow, there is a scar on the side of his head, barely hidden as his hair hasn't grown much the last few weeks.

Desmond wrinkles his nose; "What are you doin' here? They let you go home," He looks in the other direction; "Go away."

Shaun's crutches click and he shoves the chair toward the bed. It makes a loud scraping noise on the tile and Desmond goes tense.

The Brit lets out a releaved sigh as he sits, right leg stretched out, gently kneading the muscles in his thigh. He doesn't say anything at first, just leans his crutches against the wall and folds his fingers together across his stomach.

Desmond ignores him for almost ten minutes then slowly, hesitantly, turns to peer at the redhead from the corner of his eye. "What do you want, Shaun?"

"To sit," Shaun says and finally meets Desmond's eyes; "And wait."

"What for?" Desmond's nose wrinkles up; "You're not gonna catch a bus sitting here."

Shaun hums and shakes his head; "Wait for you."

"Me? What the fuck are you talkin' about?" He practically snarls it defensively.

"I'm not going anywhere," Shaun says simply, his expression unwavering.

Desmond's face contorts in rage and he feels the burn of tears in his sinuses; "Who the hell do you think you are? I don't need your fuckin' help. I don't need you!"

"Well," Shaun says without a flinch; "I need you."

Desmond is still glaring at him, still snarling.

"I need you to heal and I need you to fight… I need you—" His voice cracks and he swallows, pressing his lips together to control it; "I need you to be OK again because I'm not… I'm not OK," He swallows again and blinks and is suddenly crying. "So I'll sit here… I'll sit here and I'll wait for you and when you're ready to be OK again we'll work at it together."

Desmond's teeth are grit and his mouth is trembling; "Why?"

Shaun smiles but it's not amused, it's fond and wounded and afraid; "Because I love you, you tit."

Desmond's head tilts, just a fraction and he looks so hopeless, as if the bottom has dropped out of everything he's ever known and he's lost in freefall.

He knows this can't end well, has seen the same thing happen before. Dozens of times actually, and most usually it ends in a morgue over a cold, dead body. Life usually does you see, it's sad and terrifying and it hurts—my GOD it hurts, but it's worth it. It's so, so worth it and Desmond knows this in the back of his mind.

"Okay," Desmond swallows the ache in his throat and his hand shakes as he lifts it, holding it out for Shaun to take;

"Okay."

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_*Screams*_

_It's done… I hope you guys aren't too mad at me._

_I'll still probably be putting up 'Deleted Scenes' in Decoupage Hearts, and there are a few more chapters of Family Men to come. I might write a little on Desmond's recovery if my muse sticks around long enough._

_I want to thank you guys for reading this monster of a thing and nudging me every so often with your reviews and PMs. It really helps a lot and I appreciate your input like you would not believe!_

_I was afraid I wasn't gonna finish this thing honestly, Charlie and I have been having some problems at home and I let them eat me and completely neglected this and you guys. I'm so sorry about that, I felt I owed it to you and to the fic to finish it so here it is!_

_I'd love to hear what you thought about it, even if you thought it was crap!_

_Love, OZ_

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